Wait and Hope
by CaideSin
Summary: Sora is the pretentious prince of Coolsville and the whores ain't goin' home 'til six in the morn. Soracentric. Het, Slash, Femslash. AU.
1. I Xining—The Arrival

**If you are not familiar with one of the fandoms, please do not concern yourself. Plots are explained, and recognition of cameos is not necessary.**

**Kingdom Hearts/Firefly/Serenity/Gankutsuou/The Count of Monte Cristo/Memoirs of a Geisha/Final Fantasy (VII, VIII, X, others)  
**

**Rated for: prostitution, rape, profanity, violence**

* * *

"Look, kid, you don't have to prove yourself." Leon's arms are crossed against his chest and he's frowning like no tomorrow. "I know what you're thinking, but this is not going to get you in good with the boss like you think. Just... there are other ways, okay?"

Sora looks at the man directly. "Not faster than this."

"But... it isn't just him. He may not take to you and once you've sold yourself here, you stay." Leon motions vaguely at the building looming over them. They're in front of one of the most famous Eastern Space brothels... ever. Her name is the Castle and she's situated high and mighty and bright, right in the middle of Xining, glimmering right off the lake. She's a shiny one, made to look as if she's built of wood like in the old days. Her windows display holographs of a lively bar, but that's just a front for the main room. As you go up in the Castle there's a whole set of whores in every shape and size and species, but the real prize are the Thirteen beauties held like a collection at the tiptop.

A normal workingman would have to pay his wages for years to get even a second of their time. Everyone from here to Paris knows their faces and most men in the galaxy secretly own at least one of the magazines, even the most adamant of heterosexuals. Nowhere are there men more beautiful, not anywhere. They're like celebrities, the constant eye of gossip columns and talk shows. Hell, there are ill-advised billboards broadcasting their faces up and down the front and sides and on the roof of the Castle. Everyone knows their faces.

However, they aren't what Sora is aiming for. Sora is aiming for one man in particular, or more accurately, that man's concubine. Sora has followed this creature everywhere since a chance meeting at the Paris Opera gave way to a glimpse of gemlike eyes, delicately pointed ears and frostblue skin. This beauty had certainly looked regal and, after the Morcerf scandal, Sora had discovered that he was the Pasha of Janina's son. Royalty indeed.

"Thank you for your concern, Leon." Leon is just a space pirate he'd caught a ride with. Sora has never traveled through Eastern Space before and he'd needed a guide, but now he's here, it's irrelevant that Leon's been a good friend. "I am doing this."

Leon makes an exasperated sound and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat. It's so rutting cold in Eastern Space this time of year. He wants to go back to Paris but he doesn't want to just leave Sora.

Because this plan is stupid.

"How do you think you're going to do this? Are you stupid? The boss doesn't just… Gah." Leon knows the Count. Most of the pirates in this area know the Count, because he's not like most of the guys with money. As long as you don't kill anyone innocent, the Count is at your back in the free-space. If you're an especially good boy, you've got Luigi Vampa and his gang at your back too. That's an extra special treat.

"I'll see you, Leon," Sora says resolutely and walks on. The doors give a pressurized hiss after him, leaving Leon with only one image imprinted into his retinas. Colors, colors, lights, lights, and legs, baby, legs.

**ﮚ**

Sora steps inside and is accosted within seconds by the low class strippers who just want to be looked at, not touched. Can't damage the wares, baby, and that's why they don't reach for him either. That's why they just smile and ask if he needs anything.

"I'm looking for a job application," he laughs and moves farther away from them, getting out from the circle of entrapment with all the silky smiles and delicate alien beauty mixing it up like a cocktail with some classic human on the side.

They don't seem to take his meaning for a second, so he's more straightforward with them, just barely beating down a blush. "I'm looking to… ah… rent."

They giggle and titter nervously and point him down another hall, and that must mean _something_, because if he were too ugly they would have just pointed to the exit. Sora knows he's got that going for him, at least. He's cute: baby face, round cheeks, big eyes, but he's been learning how to fence since before he could walk, so, he's nothing but sleek muscle under an innocent façade.

The hall leads straight to a glass elevator, which takes him up, up and to the side a ways, flashing him with scandalous images of the pretty that awaits at the very top of the building. There are actually two doors on this elevator and Sora kind of wonders where the other one goes. He figures it isn't a good time to investigate. He just waits, catching eyefuls of someone's long, naked legs in the holographs, and waiting for that beloved little ping that will tell him he can escape.

When it comes, it sounds suspiciously like an orgasmic little sigh and Sora has to remind himself just where he is, as in the most famous bordello in the galaxy. Of course their elevator makes sex noises and has subliminal pinups in the holographic windows.

The room he emerges into from the elevator is blindingly white and clean and perfect, as if that's supposed to be chaste enough to make up for the filth in the rest of the place by force of will alone. Sora just keeps ambling along, right up to the desk. A woman waits there. Her skin and hair and eyes are dark and she looks out of place in this room and in her stiff, office-appropriate white dress. She sits behind a big colorless desk, and, when she sees him, moves aside her panel to accommodate him. She continues to type with one hand, but is at least looking at him.

"Here to sign up? Fill out this form." She hits a few more keys on her console and sends the thing floating over to him. He takes up the generated form and the flickering holo-pen and sets about filling it out. The questions aren't too difficult. Name, age, are you diseased, will you submit to a physical, etc; he fills it out quickly, omitting in a few uncomfortably invasive places.

The dark lady—Romanian Space, perhaps?—takes it back, sliding it with a fluid pop of shared information into her console. She glances up at him through its translucent display and then motions to another door at her right.

"Doctor is in there, take off your clothes and wait, if you're too embarrassed to wait naked, you're not cut out for this line of work, thank you, have a nice day."

The Doctor and his office look more like a whore and a lounge, in all honesty. Which is exactly what it is, Sora discovers. He recognizes Vexen as one of the Thirteen and squirms as the man prods and pokes him and sticks something hard up his ass and asks him vague questions with irrelevant answers.

In the end, Vexen turns his face from side to side. That's the final test.

"You'll be on the Second floor."

Sora has no idea what that means, not at all. All he figures is that he's gotten in and now all he has to do is keep climbing up. Two is higher than One, right?

Suddenly, the finality of all this hits him, taking the form of his clothing, which is gone for good, he's seriously not getting it back.

Vexen wanders around in his mockery of a lab coat, which is really kinky, the buckles clinking. Sora almost feels embarrassed when he feels a twitch of arousal until he remembers where he is. Vexen gives him a thin smile and motions to another door, making Sora feel like a particularly dimwitted lab rat.

"Through there, if you don't mind," Vexen instructs and off Sora goes.

**ﮚ**

The Second floor is an advantageous place for Sora to land. And it isn't exactly the Second 'floor'. The First 'floor' is where the cheap, common, trashy, possibly diseased, kids go. The Third is where the best, the Thirteen, the beauties, the brightest—all that and more—go. So, the Second is somewhere in between. It's really just a _series_ of dorm levels made up with delusions of grandeur; and looking at how nice this place is Sora considers about how much better the Third floor must be and how much worse for the First.

The Third floor… Sora knows he has to get in good with one of those Thirteen beauties and he thinks, if all else fails, he can try it with the doctor, but he'd rather not. He'd grown up in the Paris aristocracy, but he'd usually been too busy fencing to interact with the others his age, like Morcerf and Danglars. That'd all changed after he'd met Riku. Now he intends to put his cultured upbringing to proper use. He's going to worm his way up the ladder if it's the last thing he does, because he's tried everything else. The Count of Monte Cristo: friendly with pirates, but not so much with worthless aristocrat boys who want to court his beloved son.

The Thirteen are whores and escorts. Sora knows for a fact the Count and his Prince never have enough people in their fanciful entourage these days. Since leaving Paris, the Count has disappeared behind a veil of silks and decadence. It's a safe bet the two of them will eventually cross paths in the coming months, especially of Riku really intends to take up the Janina throne. He'll need attractive filler at his parties, holographs only do so much.

Someone comes along and grabs Sora by the arm, tugging.

"You new? Come on, you have to talk with Rude."

Sora looks over, startled, and there's a redhead in a suit pulling him along down the halls.

"How old are you?" the man wonders, not turning to look at him, just dragging.

"I filled out the form."

"Form doesn't mean anything, how old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two, blue eyes, brown hair, short… You fence? Great wonderful, yo."

They stop in front of a faux-wood door and the man shoves him inside, making Sora stumble. He's in another office, this one lined with filing cabinets and with flickering holo-monitors floating all over. There's a man in there, somewhere. Behind all the screens.

The door shuts behind him and Sora's head is kind of starting to whirl.

"So, you check out," a voice says absentmindedly. A chair wheels to one side, forcing open one of the great metal filing cabinets. A series of tabs jump to attention, excitedly dancing out a programmed little animation, waiting to be selected. "Right, we're gonna have to go over some things."

Sora shifts awkwardly and wonders if he should take a seat, but Rude just keeps going, pulling out a long document. He sends it shooting over toward Sora in a stream of static.

"I hope you know how to read, though it isn't a requirement. Anyways, what this contract says is: you're selling services, being yourself, to us. Meaning, we own you. Meaning, we will be branding you. If that's an issue, please get out of my office. In return for this sale, you are purchasing a room here at the Castle, as well as meals and health care. All your profits will be going to us, however, if a customer leaves you with a tip, such as jewelry or coin, etcetera, you may keep that for yourself. The property is allowed to buy themselves back and is, if the price is right, allowed to be bought. Please take that into consideration before you sign the contract… Reno will arrange which dormitory you'll be living in, if you have a problem boarding with other species, that's just too damn bad."

Sora boggles for a moment, staring at the contract and wondering if it really says all that, but Rude is looking up at him over his sunglasses. He's bald and all the screens shining off his head magnifies his absolute impatience, like he can't believe Sora is really going to try and read the contract. For one whole second, Sora begins to reconsider this and remembers how Leon had told him this was stupid. Rude reminds him very much a man he'd known while in Paris. Bertuccio: steward to the Count of Monte Cristo and dear friend of Riku Tebelin. Sora is then helpless but to think of Riku… the alluring way he walks and…

His signature is bold and attractive—_Sora Donatien Roy Favreau_. He hopes the name doesn't mean a thing to Rude and he hopes his father doesn't come looking for him. Rude doesn't even glance at the contract. He just stuffs it back into the filing cabinet and goes back to what he was doing.

"Reno!" He shouts when Sora doesn't get up and leave. The door opens and the redhead with the weird things on his face… He's from Northern Space, Sora realizes with revulsion, so close to the Reavers you can taste it. Sora, with his years of good breeding, winces back from the barbarian, but gets dragged along nonetheless.

"Right, you're going to be in a male-mixed lodge with people around your age, mostly brunets and blue-eyes. I think there's one or two chameleons and a tenti."

The hall is bustling, people running back and forth in various states of costumed and undress. Sora is reminded of just how naked he is. Reno holds on at his elbow steadily, though on the way, he pauses several times to flirt with the girls and boys. Some of them flush, some of them playfully push him aside and one furious girl smacks him. Sora laughs and Reno casts him an excited glance.

"So, once you're a worker…" the man begins to offer, causing Sora to freeze up. He wracks his brain and tries not to sound like a poncy little aristocrat who runs to daddy every time one of his plans blows up in his face. Like it's about to, because he is going to have to have sex with people.

"Once I'm a worker you'll have to pay for it," Sora gets out, fighting down his flush. Reno takes that in all the wrong-best-ways and pushes Sora in all his naked glory up against the wall. People trying to get past them in the hallway complain loudly, but Reno lets it wash over him like so much mist.

"Are you saying, if I want a piece of you, it should be now?" He's got this tilting grin that sort of makes Sora sweat and laugh nervously.

"No," Sora manages. "I'm saying I wouldn't sleep with you unless you paid me."

Reno doesn't seem offended at all and someone gives the redhead a consolatory slap on the back, laughing loudly.

"Well, maybe I'll find a way to change your tune," Reno hums, and then pulls him along by the elbow again.

They finally enter another of the rooms; this one is small and definitely has only one purpose. It's the branding room. Sora wishes this weren't necessary.

"So, where do you want this?" Reno inquires pleasantly, milling around, opening cabinets and drawers, grabbing pads full of numbing agents, clicking on the brand and twirling it menacingly.

"This is barbaric," Sora says before he can stop his mouth.

"Well, little prince, you signed the contract," the redhead reminds him. "If you don't like it, we sell you off to one of the places down on Peking Street and they won't treat you half so nice."

Sora rubs his arms, finding his resolve, somehow. "Somewhere I can hide it later?"

"Think you're leaving here, yo?" Reno grins and then shakes his head. "Alright, how about the back of your neck, in the hairline? It'll only be noticeable for a while." He rubs down the brand and Sora thinks it's alcohol until Reno tells him otherwise. "The brand is for other people's reference, the Castle is actually putting some nano-bugs into your body. That's how we keep track of you. Not that you look like a runner?"

He fixes Sora with a really, very menacing stare. There's a little too much Reaver madness in those eyes. Sora shakes his head and Reno returns to his smiling self.

"Good, because I'm the one who has to chase you idiots down when you get it in your head to break your contract. Not that I don't have fun giving you a good shock with the baton, but it ruins the flow of business, yo."

Sora just nods compliantly, eyeing the man warily. Reno reaches over, pulling Sora so he's half bent over. The brunet feels something cold on the back of his neck and then doesn't feel anything at all and he only smells the burning hair when Reno presses the seal to his skin.

Then he's let up and Reno is sort of whistling as he cleans everything up, putting things back in their rightful place. Sora sends his hand back to touch the sear, it feels warm on his fingers but it's still numb.

"Do you do this often?" the newest addition to the Castle wonders.

The redhead turns toward him. "No, we get a new kid maybe once every few months. Well, a Second floor kid. We get First floor kids all the time; a lot of them don't last long, though. They run—thank God I'm not in charge of them—or they're sold off to Peking Street." Sora seems confused and Reno laughs. "This is the Castle, kid. We've got some pretty high standards. Everyone has been judging you: the girls out front, Esmeralda, even Vexen and Rude."

Sora blanches. "You too, I bet."

"Well, yeah," Reno purrs. His hands are being too friendly, so Sora draws back a pace. "And you better get over that quick, people are gonna touch you around here."

"Yeah, I get that," Sora murmurs. "It's a brothel, I just don't want _you_ to touch me." It comes out more frightened and less snide than he would have hoped. Reno gets it though; he just looses a bark of laughter and heads for the door.

"Well, I'm going to get you settled and then you probably won't have to deal with me again, unless you want to." Reno has enough sluts, Sora knows, and therefore he does not respond.

They take another of the glass elevators and Sora feels like he'll go into a seizure from watching the holographic images flashing by.

"So, do we ever see them?" he motions towards the windows.

Reno takes his meaning and shrugs. "Sometimes. Maybe, it depends. Some of them are friendly, some of them are shy, and some of them are assholes. Demyx and Axel come down and hang out with the younger ones. Larxene has this class she gives to the girls on self-defense and, uh, if Luxord feels like it, he comes and plays cards with me and Rude."

He eyes Sora as if he knows something. "Is that why you're here, yo?" Reno asks, he's so close to laughing again. "Fall in love with one of their pretty faces? Who is it, Xigbar?" Reno is snickering flat out. Xigbar is a special one; he isn't some pretty little whore to be taken. He's got a muscled veteran look with the scars of his craft and a missing eye as his merit. He's the type who gives out and is the type who would be requested by craven businessmen looking for dominance play. Sometimes by fancy ladies who dress him up in foreign uniforms for something even more depraved.

"It isn't one of them," Sora sneers, crossing his arms moodily. Reno thinks he looks pretty damn good when he's being petulant. "It's… someone they know."

Since Riku left Paris, Sora has seen a multitude of pictures of the Prince and the Count and the various members of the Castle Thirteen. Parties, festivals, dinners, theatres. Sora knows… he just knows, if he can get close to one of them, just one, he will be able to see Riku. That's all it will take.

Reno's stopped laughing and the elevator opens. "Uh, look, maybe wipe that from your head. I… it's really not worth it, whoever this is."

"How would you know?" Sora raises his eyebrow. "I'm not asking you to help me."

"Was I offering?" the man returns dryly.

**ﮚ**

The first person to come greet Sora is a smiling man in a cowboy hat named Irvine Kinneas. He and Reno kind of grope at each other, like no one else is looking, but then Reno pulls back and shoves Sora towards him.

"This one is stupid—"

"Hey!"

"—look out for him, for me, yo."

Irvine grins and slings an arm around Sora's shoulders. "Sure thing." He starts to lead Sora away but Reno seems to have something else to say.

"Uh, I'm offering to help?" He's surprised with himself, but unrepentant. "I'll tell you if I see them."

Irvine looks between the two, confused, but he lets it go. He blows a kiss after Reno and then drags Sora along. He's about to prove himself to be the blunt kind of man, in more ways than just one.

"Are you a virgin?" he asks, showing a fair amount of teeth with that grin of his. Sora flushes and tries not to recall the fiancée he'd left behind for this escapade. It was an arranged marriage, so it isn't that he feels bad about deserting her, but he had kept his virginity intact for her, all the same.

Kinneas doesn't need him to respond, he picks up all the answers from the heat in the kid's face.

"Well, how about I remedy that for you?"

"No, that's okay, you know, Reno offered me the same thing and I just think it—"

"If you're about to say better to save it for the customers then you are wrong. They are gonna rip your ass to shreds." Irvine winks and, sort of, _clucks_ disapprovingly at him, Sora is mortified. "They're not gonna take any consideration for a virgin, they're gonna fuck you like they would a woman and you're gonna come back to me at the end of the night bleeding like an oil spill." Sora really has no response. What is one supposed to say to that, exactly? "I, on the other hand, have much experience with the average virgin male. Unless you have a thing for redheads? In that case, I can get Reno to come back?"

"No, no, that's fine," and Sora belatedly realizes that in saying no to Reno, he's said yes to Irvine.

"Great!" Irvine, declares, and they've made their way into one of the dorms. The rooms are pretty nice. They look big enough for, maybe, three people, with bedrooms in the back and a common space as you walk in the door. Nothing compared to his family's chateau, however. "So, what's your name?"

Somehow they've also fallen onto a bed and Kinneas is definitely touching him, definitely serious about this and Sora kind of has to accept that it's with good reason. So far he's gone on blind impulse, breathed on active desire, without ever really considering all the implications.

"Sora," the boy squeaks out and he's blushing too brightly for comfort. It isn't that he has a problem sleeping with men, it's that he has a problem sleeping with just any guy and Irvine is too damn friendly! A hand stroking his thighs, tickling his balls, lips sucking on his Adam's apple and then,

"Sora? That's a cute name." Irvine kisses him soundly on the mouth. "Let me take care of you, sweetheart."

The boy considers struggling or crying out, but instead takes a deep breath and steers his thoughts to what it is he's come here chasing.

The operatic sound of Riku's voice, the artistic way Riku had looked at him.

Irvine's hand on his cock is the fantasy, Riku is the real world. Please, oh, please, let Riku be the real world. Every stroke of Irvine's hand, every nip at his collarbone, jolts him from his reveries.

He throws his head back and moans as Kinneas circles his thumb over the blunt head of his cock. Irvine murmurs soft things to him, crooning like a mother to her babe and Sora can hear him shuffling around off to the side of the bed.

Sora implements the sounds of Riku's clothes rustling and… his cock is throbbing. His imagination is too vivid and Irvine's hand jacking him off is too sensational.

Suddenly, he is left with nothing, no feeling at all, he's left tight and trembling, with _nothing_. Then there is the feeling of sharp, cold and a wet sliding up his ass crack. Then a tickling circle around his hole.

The first of Irvine's long fingers almost doesn't hurt as much as he expects it to, and in the back of Sora's mind, there is sighing relief. It fades as the man pushes in farther and crooks his finger, bringing about a flash of pain. Sora whines low in his throat despite himself.

Irvine caresses his inner thigh, says something soothing and Sora just gasps,

"Riku…"

There is no question that Irvine hears his call, but he doesn't say anything about it. He pulls his finger from Sora's ass, applies a little more oil and then comes back with two, invading the inner sanctum of pretty, tight, and pink.

The pain is worse. Riku's name is a full-blown mantra to help him through the uncomfortable, unaccustomed, stretch and burn.

"You're doin' great," the man tells him, scooting up his body and kissing him with a lot of tongue and damp and it's almost distracting enough. "Come on, here, jerk off, kid, won't that feel nice?"

Sora is half delirious, awash in sensations and fantasies, but he can perform a simple command such as 'jerk yourself off'. It's comforting when it's his own hand and not Irvine's, it helps to re-immerse himself into his blind, consuming, need for Riku.

Riku and his soft silver hair and perfectly wonderful eyes and… Sora makes a sound like a beaten, broken, animal: high and keening, when three of Irvine's fingers are deep inside fucking him.

His cock is close to completely softening because it's just so… it isn't...

"Ah…" He's trying to imagine some other man's cock up his ass or doing this to Riku or, "Ah!" Irvine has crooked his fingers just so; he's gotten in deep enough to hit that one spot which makes all the good parts better, or bearable.

Kinneas gives a little laugh as he licks one of Sora's nipples. "Yeah, it's easier to hit that with my cock, baby." He's vaguely aware of the fact that the watery-eyed brunet isn't listening to him at all, just muttering the name 'Riku' over and over and stroking his cock, struggling to keep an erection up, and wishing he could just come. Sorry, but this lesson isn't over until Irvine pops his cherry.

Best part, Irvine thinks, is the kid will still be tight enough to claim he's a virgin and he'll probably still bleed for the next few weeks. Hey, some men find that to be the most attractive part of a virgin. If his looks are any indication Sora is going to get regulars fast and his name is gonna spread by word of mouth like wildfire.

Sora's hole refuses to give anymore around his fingers, so Irvine pulls him up, sprawling him over his lap.

"This is going to hurt." Sora states drearily, sky-high eyes slipping quietly shut, his body limp.

Irvine feels so damn proud of him. "Yeah, honey, it is, but I'm going to make sure you come, even if I have to suck you off myself."

Sora isn't sure why that should be soothing, it really isn't, but Irvine wants it to be, so he tries. He tries not to cry out and whine as Irvine bucks up into him and he tries not to scream Riku's name when the strange man hits that lovely, wonderful, white, and slick, and roaring spot within him.

Irvine drags his hips down to that _right_ angle and almost every stroke brushes just… just…

"Ah!" Sora really almost can't believe he comes when he does, shooting strands of translucent white, splattering both of their abdomens. Irvine thrusts up into him, making Sora squirm and gasp at the burn and sensation. Then Sora's tight and virgin and magnificence is just too much. He leaves a hot, sticky wad of dripping cum in the boy's ass.

"There," Irvine murmurs, holding Sora to him and feeling his heart thundering within his chest. Sora slumps against him, so Irvine leans them both back, not slipping free just yet. The boy gives a soft moan as Irvine's cock jostles inside of his tender asshole. The older man just presses a kiss on him, swallowing up pain with humidity and satiation. "There you are, sweetheart, pretty good, as first times go, I'd say."

He's startled when the new boy actually gives him a faint smile. Irvine finally pulls out and the sweet expression vanishes with a hiss of inhaled breath. He smoothes his younger partner's mass of nut-brown hair in consolation.

The cum on Sora's belly and the mixture of blood and oil at his thighs are just so… Irvine has never really been disgusted by it before, but he doesn't think he's had a virgin like this before. This one had been saving it for someone, was it that Riku he'd kept calling for?

Irvine laughs nervously. "I hear it's good for your skin," he makes useless flapping hand motions at Sora's stomach as he gets up. "But I'm gonna clean you up now."

The kid is asleep by the time he gets back and doesn't wake up, even as Irvine sees to sucking the cum from his ass. Even after, he watches the boy for a while longer, feeling a little bit like… like he's filthy and he begins contemplating a shower; first, however, he wants to talk to Reno.

He wanders into the common room of the dorm and reaches for the phone, carting it with him to the window. The view looks down into Xining in all her glory. It's colorful and full of people and smokestacks and general urban-civilization muck. Reno answers the phone after the fourth ring and it's obvious what he's up to.

"Hell-oh-oh, God! Wha… Who… Ah…"

"It's Irvine. How old is the kid you left with me?"

"I… oh, hah, right there! Fuck yes! God! Your cock! Uh! Old… he's… old enough, yo!"

Irvine hears it just fine when Rude tells him to hang up the _gorram _phone.

"Focus, baby, just answer the question and then you can go back to getting your brains fucked out."

"T… twenty? Something. Twenty something! Yes! Ah… Nnn, fuck me!"

"Right, say hi to Rude for me, sugar."

Irvine feels weird. Twenty-something virgin that'd been _saving_ it.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**


	2. II Master and Apprentice

When Reno comes to find the kid weeks later, Irvine is instructing him on the finer points of giving good head while fingering his ass. It is really, extremely, in so many ways, hot. Reno knows that once Sora starts seeing clients on a regular basis he will be a hit. His hips are small, so he's probably going to be tight no matter how much he gets fucked. Good for clients, bad for him.

"Can he take a break, yo?" Reno wonders, leaning in the doorway.

Irvine gives a soft heartfelt moan. "Ah… you're… yeah, Sora, that's it, sugar, come on…"

Reno wets his lips and decides he won't repeat himself. Maybe it can wait? Maybe he can get a little taste of Sora, or maybe he'll hold hostage his valuable information and make an exchange of it? Could he do that to the kid with those huge honest eyes, which make it pretty clear that he's willing to go to the Outreaches and back for this love he'd mentioned.

Irvine spills down Sora's throat and the boy chokes and sputters, drawing up quickly with a rivulet of cum dribbling down his chin. Irvine is kind enough to lean over and lick it up.

"Hello," the cowboy greets with a wink. He pets Sora's back as the kid breathes heavily. "Come to give a lesson? I'm sure you've got some valuable things to say about being a bitch."

"Hah," Reno sneers. "Come with me, Sora."

Sora makes to follow him, but Irvine grabs his arm. "He isn't going to the floor already, is he?" His voice is gruff and assertive.

"No, something else," the redhead assures him. He's amused to see Irvine acting protective.

Those words get Sora's attention fast because he knows _exactly_ what this is about. He remembers the offer that had come out of the blue. Reno had offered to help him.

"I'm coming!" He limps a bit as he follows. He's sore in a place he'd never bothered to acknowledge to be in existence before.

Reno takes him down the maze of halls to a sort of common room. It's made up with marble floors and what looks to be real wood paneling on the walls. The floors are strewn with pillows and blankets and a circle of couches, all of them with fantastic patterning. The room is tight and cozy despite the high arching ceilings. Sora spots Axel and Demyx immediately, they're in amongst the Second floor harlots. The two of them are perched on a high purple couch that turns blue as the lighting moves along it. He casts a panicky glance at Reno, but the redhead marches them right on up to the Idols.

"This a new one?" Axel asks, his green eyes glitter excitedly when he catches sight of Sora. He reminds Sora of a great big cat, sleek and feral with just enough sophistication to balance out his playful. He elbows Demyx, who glances up, sandy hair flying everywhere, eyeing the brunet and Reno as they approach.

The other young whores in the room are glaring at Sora with barely contained jealously and he isn't quite sure why. They're here too, right here with some of the most well known people in the galaxy! Maybe the reason is Reno has taken him up for a personal intro? Sora doesn't know, and all he can do is slip back into being an aristocrat, letting the stares roll off his back. He holds his head high and, somehow, meets Axel's eyes. The man responds by raising an eyebrow slowly.

"What's this?" Demyx wonders, reaching out and pawing Sora gently, cooing over lithe muscles, the product of long hours of sweat and fencing. His hands go from Sora's neck all the way down to his flanks, pausing for a moment to cup the boy's cock. He makes a purr of satisfaction and glances at Axel with glee.

"I thought you two might like him," Reno shrugs nonchalantly, though he's got a sharp little grin on his face. Sora notices the small similarities between him and Axel and hopes they don't go any deeper than their appearances and Northern heritage.

Sora also notices what Reno just said doesn't _quite_ make sense. The man is either lying to them or he's lied to Sora; the brunet desperately hopes it isn't the latter.

"Are you a virgin?" Axel wonders, leaning against Demyx and whispering something in his ear. His companion nods and smiles at Sora, grabbing his forearm and pulling him forward.

Reno coughs, discreetly. "I left him with Kinneas, yo."

"So, not anymore," Axel laughs. It's some kind of secret redhead code, Sora is sure. "Well, that's okay, no one stays a virgin long around the Castle."

Demyx is still touching him, fingers moving like little spiders and Sora squirms unhappily.

"I think he's got the potential."

Sora glances up sharply and frowns, his response must mean something to Axel and Demyx, they both laugh and draw him in closer, getting hands on his ass.

"That little scowl is cute," Demyx giggles, nuzzling his neck. Then he even goes so far as to kiss Sora on the mouth, it's warm and when Demyx licks his tongue he tastes faintly of cum, bitter and almost tangy.

"You think he should be apprenticed and brought up a floor?" Axel murmurs, his fingers sliding up and down Sora's crack, the flesh there is still tender.

"Well, look at him," Reno shrugs. "He's not hard on the eyes, is he? And you saw him just a second ago, this bitch was part of some aristocracy, yo."

Axel nibbles on Sora's earlobe. "Where are you from, sweetheart?" He questions.

Sora pulls his mouth back from Demyx. He feels warm and short of breath and has to pant for a second before he can answer, though he is loathe to be so uncouth.

"Paris."

"You're a long way from Paris. Why are you here?"

"I'm looking for something."

"And how does that bring you to the Castle?"

"Does it matter?"

Axel stares at him in surprise and then that smile of his comes back, he hauls Sora up into his lap and grinds against him. Demyx makes a lusting noise, like he can't decide whether he's aroused or indignant to have his prey stolen out of his fingers..

"Maybe we should leave you on the floor for a while, so you can get that attitude fucked out of you?" Axel suggests with a growl. The brunet can feel his cock hardening against his thighs and gives a little groan. He doesn't think he wants that at all.

Sora knows every eye in the room is on him, watching as Axel rubs against him and as he gives a soft, embarrassing, moan. Everyone is waiting to see what's going to happen. Sora worries his head is going to cave in from the pressure… because he's so close to getting somewhere, he can feel it, can feel he's so close to taking another step closer to Riku. Somehow he has to let these two accept him. This is a _test_.

He knew coming in this was going to have to happen but he hadn't expected it so soon or in this way. He hasn't had any time to look for a weakness, like he'd been taught in fencing. He doesn't know anything about Axel or what he expects. He's already won over Demyx, it wasn't difficult, he just had to blush a little and bat his eyelashes. Axel is completely different.

It's all over in one agonizing second.

"Sure. What's his name?"

"Sora."

"Sora? We'll see how you do, I, of course, reserve the right to send you back to the floor if I'm not satisfied with you."

Some of the other whores in the room give little grumbles and Demyx flits over to console them. Axel gets up, pulling Sora with him as he leaves.

"I… I don't understand," Sora says finally. Reno had sprung this on him without any preamble or warning. The details of his new situation remain unclear.

"You're my apprentice now," Axel murmurs. The halls Axel ushers him down are completely devoid of people; they're private, reserved, unlike the path Reno had taken on the way to the common. "I teach you shit about being a shameless slut and you follow me to parties and I introduce you to people."

"What do you get out of it?" Sora wonders. His father had taught him that lesson a long time ago: nothing is free.

"Whatever money you make. A percentage of which goes back to the Castle." Axel is being surprisingly businesslike and Sora thinks he's not so much like Reno after all.

They get into an elevator, Sora is secretly glad the ones for private use don't have to flash him with images and they don't have any music either. He glances up to where the speaker would have been and sees it's been ripped out. He lets out a hysterical little chuckle, which has been building up in his chest for a long while and Axel follows his gaze. He smiles as well.

"Yeah, Saïx did that."

Sora draws up the image of Saïx in his mind, moonlight skin, golden eyes, pointed ears and long cerulean hair. Sora tries to remember which planet he's from, but even when he'd been a teen and pornography and fencing had been the only things on his mind, he'd never really cared about reading the personal bios of the models.

"I… is there anything else you should tell me?" Sora wonders helplessly as they exit the elevator. He doesn't really want to be surprised again, one cannot always win on luck alone.

"Don't fuck with the others." Axel has stopped moving; he turns around and grabs Sora by the shoulders. "Okay?" he says and his face is deathly serious. "They will kill you, I swear to God, and they have enough money that no one will care. So, do not, _dong le ma_, Sora? Do not fuck with them." The emphatic use of the Allegiant language is effectively threatening.

Sora nods, in shock. He doesn't really understand what is prompting Axel to say this. He hopes he will never know at all.

The man relaxes again, releasing Sora's arms at last, then they continue on their way. Sora feels the silence hanging heavily between them. He doesn't think it's a good way to start things off, so he tries to say something, albeit hesitantly.

"Where are we going?"

Axel grins at him, all semblances of awkwardness and anger and intensity gone and suddenly he's just a smile. "To wake up the princess."

The brunet wracks his brain, attempting to decipher just whom Axel means. There's only one woman in the Thirteen, Larxene seems like princess material, blonde and Prussian-eyed and haughty. Sora asks him if that is whom he means, Axel laughs.

"I mean Roxas. The stupid little shit has been late for his appointments two days in a row, Xemnas asked me to get him moving."

It's already past noon; Sora wonders why Roxas would even still be asleep. He figures it is exactly why they're headed to wake him up.

This area of the Castle is almost completely paneled in wood, real wood, which is not so common as it once was. Even the aristocrats of Paris rarely have the good fortune of obtaining an item made of natural lumber. More common are cement mixtures augmented with alien metals or a stain made of a foreign plant substance. Sora is in awe to see so much raw earthen timber all around. It's nearly as breathtaking as the lush fabrics draped on the walls, or the large paintings with great platinum frames or the real gold-leaf plating or the solid silver. The Favreau's had been, in no way, poor, but this? this makes them seem like paupers. Sora concludes selling oneself at an exorbitant price to the whole of the galaxy has its benefits.

They come at last to a door; it has the number XIII in silver lamellas nailed to the hardwood surface. Axel presses a communiqué button on the panel to the right of the door. There is the whining sound of something electrical connecting through to the other side and Sora can imagine the buzzing sound. They receive no answer, so Axel presses again and this time leans in close to a speaker box.

"Roxas! Get up and open the door."

Still no reply and Sora begins to shift at Axel's side. "Maybe he got up."

"No," the man shakes his head, glaring at the door. He pushes the cover of the panel up and enters a number. There's a pressurized hissing sound, the locks have been released, and Axel heads inside.

Roxas's room is a large space, mostly dominated by a bed and several desks and shelves. It isn't as lavishly decorated as it could be, but it is far from a humble abode. Roxas, the man in question, is lying on his bed, still fast asleep. Sora is stunned to see that he is actually wearing clothes; he had figured not many people outside of the administrative help would. Sora and Axel certainly aren't wearing clothes. Sora ponders what would prompt Roxas to do so.

The two of them approach the wide bed and Axel reaches out to shake the blond man's shoulder.

"Roxas, get up already."

Roxas groans and rolls onto his back, his eyes are screwed up and his breathing is labored, he's sweating and his face is flushed. Sora thinks it's obvious he's taken in some kind of illness. Axel, however, begins to walk away. His apprentice makes a startled sound.

"Where are you going?" he demands, motioning vaguely towards the invalid. Axel doesn't really answer him, only tells him to stay with Roxas, so he does.

Sora sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, there's plenty of room, but he's afraid of what a spoiled house cat like one of the Thirteen might think to see someone like him on their bed. It's a feeling he isn't well acquainted with, even though he's never acted the part of spoiled rich boy.

He understands what it means to work for something and he understands what it means to be told no. Riku is the embodiment of both, he has been denied and now he works furiously to redeem himself.

Sora eyes Roxas as he waits. The blond is attractive, terribly so. His hair is a certain kind of blond that looks more like white gold and less like dirty dishwater. At one point, he opens his eyes and stares blearily at Sora. At such a fever-bright pitch, his eyes are absolutely brilliant. They remind Sora of the color of Riku's skin and the jewels, crystal and clear, he had worn that day at the Opera. Roxas's skin is much the same, pale white and creamy, reminiscent of a diamond, or milk. Sora can't rightly decide whether he wants to lick or to treasure. With reluctance, he chooses neither.

After a few moments, Roxas tries to sit up, but Sora gently puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back down. Roxas falls without support and lets out all his air in a whoosh of breath. He isn't well. Sora finds it difficult to imagine one of these faces unwell, the smiling profile pictured on the cover of nearly every tabloid. The pornographic perfection of every angle is suddenly thrown off, because this is nothing like sexual ecstasy, this is pain and weakness. Roxas wears it as well as can be expected.

"I think Axel went to get something," Sora murmurs, soothing, keeping the man down. Roxas opens his eyes again and smiles weakly.

"Axel did?"

The brunet nods, his hand is still resting on XIII's shoulder, and he's startled when the man nuzzles against it, making a soft humming noise. His delirium is plain.

"Yeah," Sora croaks, unwilling to draw his hand away, lest he upset the man. He and Roxas wait in silence until Axel returns with Vexen. Sora recognizes the doctor, the scientist, not only from the pornography of his youth, but also from his arrival. The time between then and now feels much longer than it rightfully is.

Vexen moves him out of the way without a word and leans over Roxas, inspecting him. He too is pale, but his hair is more like the color of straw, his brow, nose, and cheekbones are more pronounced and his eyes are very dark. He has a different appeal, and Sora knows that is the basis behind the Castle and the Thirteen. They pander to every imaginable whim of gender, of species, of stature, of coloring.

Vexen, like before, has on his medical coat and not much else, and from within the dipping pockets he draws out a hypo-spray. He presses it to Roxas's neck and Sora can hear it as the medicine works its way in from Roxas's skin.

"If you were becoming ill," Vexen murmurs directly into the other blonde's ear. "You should have come to me immediately. You upset everyone's schedules when you let it progress like this."

He sounds angry. Axel looks annoyed as well and Sora isn't quite sure he understands, but Roxas just nods.

"You will have to take Master Simoneit, he wants a blond and neither Demyx nor Larxene will suit his taste," Roxas says, though his voice is scratchy and his tongue does not quite cooperate. "No one else should raise protest to having someone else tonight."

"You are lucky I have the time," Vexen growls, turning and making his way back to the door, moving Sora out of his way again. "I will still be telling Xemnas about this."

Roxas laughs weakly, but Vexen is gone while Axel and Sora remain.

"Need anything else, princess?" Axel sneers.

Roxas rolls his eyes, but then his eyes fall on Sora. "Who is this?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Axel says with a fair amount of hostility. "But I finally picked out an apprentice."

The blond continues to size Sora up. "I feel bad for you," he mumbles after a moment, closing his eyes. "Axel is a fucking dick."

"Nice mouth, princess," the redhead throws back, he turns for the door. "Come on, Sora, we did our part, lot of thanks we got for it."

Sora hesitantly calls a goodbye to Roxas and then follows his new mentor out the door. The entire scenario has raised a fair amount of confusion in his mind.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**

* * *


	3. III The Jenovas

The third hour has just gone by when Axel finally takes Sora to his quarters. The room is a violent array of colors and things, sparkling and glinting and generally making Sora feel blinded. Axel's bed is not nearly so large as Roxas's. Instead, there is a wide-open space left at the center of the room for the man to exercise in.

Or, that's what Axel says as he gets dressed. He puts glittering green jewels into his ears and ties a swathe of forest colored silk round his waist. The tails hang long in the back and front. It's barely a nod to modesty. Sora begins to ask him what he's doing, but the man turns away from him and begins going through a brimming trunk. It's full of outrageous colors and eye-popping designs.

The material he drags out is a deep denim, with a shimmering gold stair-stepped design. He moves for his dresser after handing it to Sora who, with great effort manages to tie the fabric around his hips. It sags pathetically and he has to retie it several more times before Axel comes to assist him. His new mentor clips several pieces of jewelry onto him: a cuff to the shell of his ear, jewelry; bracelets, anklets and a thin buckled collar around his neck.

"Your ears aren't pierced?" Axel laments, caressing his earlobes; the scrape of his nails against Sora's neck makes the boy shiver. "I'll do it for you tomorrow."

Sora isn't listening though; he's more concerned with the collar about his neck. He wraps his fingers under it and tugs slightly, frowning. There's a lot he's willing to withstand; but this thing is going too far. He is willing to whore himself out to get close to Riku, but he is not keen on this collar.

"Axel, this is…" Aristocratic air is flaring everywhere—just enough indignation—and Axel's grin doesn't help at all.

"Sorry, kid, if you don't wear it, someone might try to take a piece of you," he winks lasciviously, not that there is any question as to what he is intonating in the first place. Sora wants to flush, but he has the image of Irvine, nut-brown hair messy, blue eyes bright, cowboy hat tipped and his cock up his ass… Sora thinks blushing at what Axel is saying would be ridiculous. He's a little proud of himself, for growing up already.

"All right," the brunet bites out reluctantly. "But where are we going?"

"I've got a party to entertain on Taipei," Axel murmurs, combing at Sora's hair with his fingers. He makes a pleased sound when he finds that the boy's locks are in good condition. "Businessmen. Here's your first lesson, Sora, these types are hiring us because we're well known, but most of them are repressed. You are going to get groped. What are you gonna do in response?"

Sora looks at him, taking in the hypothetical question for what it's worth. He thinks about it carefully, overriding the initial instinct to be outraged, because he can already tell that's the wrong answer. They're headed for the space-docks when he hesitantly offers something up.

"Blush and act shy?"

The redhead claps him on the shoulder and nods approvingly. He's really beginning to like Sora; to appreciate taking him under his wing.

The ship they board is something akin to a giant flying billboard and Sora can't say that surprises him. The thing might as well be coated with skin and sex. Axel laughs as he boggles up at it, mouth wide, head tilted back, taking in just pure, undiluted, eroticism.

"Yeah," Axel snickers, pulling him onto the ship. "We do a lot of advertising. Can't let people forget that we're the undisputed rulers of the escort services."

The inside of the ship is absolutely lovely. Nothing in comparison to Monte Cristo's, but still nicer than most things Sora's ever known in his privileged life. He's beginning to accept it will probably be that way for a while. These people have nothing better to do than be more decadent than the decadent, more extravagant than the extravagant. It's part of their appeal.

The ship is ready to head into space as soon as they're on board and Axel takes him along to the viewing deck, which is full of stars and swirling gears and several holomated swans diving gracefully through the air, high up in a domed ceiling. Sora wonders how much is real and how much is generated by the ship's computer matrix. He can feel the electronic sparkle of the holographs on his skin.

Axel pours himself a glass of something from a crystalline carafe; it's a warm, pleasant, burgundy color. He eyes Sora for a moment before pouring him a glass as well, pressing it into his student's hands. They sit down on overstuffed pillows and just watch the stars go by, waiting for their arrival. Or, that's what Sora would have done if Axel didn't somehow slip his hands around behind him, sifting under fabric until one warm solitary finger rests at the cleft of his ass. Sora feels his face coloring, but all he thinks to do is set aside his drink and let it go on compliantly.

Axel's mouth is warm, just like the drink, just like his fingers and Sora can't say it's unpleasant to be touched and kissed. Yet, at the same time, he wonders if he could get away with stopping it. He wonders if this encounter is necessary. He's already gotten into Axel's good graces; does he have to stand for this molestation now?

Sora chokes out something—it might have been a name—when Axel reaches around his front, searching out his flaccid cock.

"Who's that?" the man murmurs.

Sora isn't sure of what he'd said. He turns his face away, staring out into the galactic-abyss. His eyes are as pretty as the royal Prussians of an old painting.

"Who's Riku?" the redhead pursues, his great pointy smile distorting his features. His fingers dance along Sora's ribs when he doesn't get a reply and the boy squirms back from him with an unappreciative gasp.

"Riku is…" he mumbles, "who I'm looking for."

"Oh?" His mentor is watching him, attention rapt.

"Who I…" Sora wants to say it so badly, but he wonders if he'll be laughed at, "am in love with…"

The expression on Axel's face changes, gets a little soft and doughy around the edges, even though he's laughing like he wants to be cynical and cruel.

"Look, this line of work doesn't afford you to love anyone, okay?"

"You don't want to be in love?" Azure eyes hold surprise and question in them.

Apple eyes hold doubt and bitterness. "I do. But I _fucking_ sell myself, kid, no one wants used goods."

Sora starts to say something but his breath disappears. This is why, he realizes. Not because they have nothing else to do but be sinful and eccentric. They're cold and lonely because their sex, their gift, their world, is impersonal. There isn't love in this existence of rare wood and lush fabric. Sora sincerely hopes he gets away before it has the chance to infect him too.

**ﮚ**

When they arrive on the tiny rock that is Taipei, Axel straightens them both out. As he goes over hair and jewelry, he says something cocky about how they are professionals. A fact well supplemented with proof by the way they are greeted heading down the metal gangplank. Axel is called to with much joy from the waiting businessmen who patiently refrain from any other immediate greetings as servants usher satin slippers onto their feet. Axel glances at Sora and then turns back to their hosts. He sidles up close to one, giving an extravagant, simpering, smile.

"Gentlemen," he purrs, motioning towards the brunet. "This is my apprentice, Sora. Isn't he adorable? Be gentle with him though, this is his first time out." He gives a wink and his smile hardens into its usual razor-sharp self. The Suits shift like a den of snakes, eyeing Sora expectantly. Axel raises his voice just a bit louder and begins to herd everyone inside where they can sit. Sora isn't sure just what he's expected to do. Axel is talking and smiling and being so generically amusing and…

"So." There is a blond man with glinting blue eyes speaking to him. "How did you acquire the lofty status of 'Axel's Apprentice'?" Sora jumps and stares at him, shocked, but years of keeping up appearances prevent most of it from debuting on his face. The man still laughs, offering out a hand. "Pardon me," he murmurs. "How rude of me, my name is Rufus Shinra." Sora doesn't try to shake his hand, but Rufus still commandeers it and raises it to his lips. Rufus motions archly to three silver haired men standing just a little ways back. "These are my business partners Kadaj, Yazoo, and Loz."

Sora instantly recognizes this for what it is. He's had the misfortune of catching this man's eye and now Rufus is trying to win him over with a display of his power, which, in _his_ mind, has equivalence to his entourage. Sora remembers whole dinners hosted for the express purpose of allowing the pompous to assert their right of pretension. Rufus nods towards the double doors, which the others have already passed through. A couple stands solemnly, watching them from behind dark tinted glasses.

"And those are my personal guards. There will be no party crashers here." Rufus's smile is not attractive; it is thin and definitely insincere. Sora takes a step back, trying to remember to be coy, but the intense way Kadaj is staring at him is disturbing. Like he's literally nothing more than a hunk of meat.

"Axel has assured me things will go smoothly." It's a lie, but he needs the excuse to take another step backwards. "We've been left behind by the rest of the group, I should find him." He has the presence of mind to bend at the waist courteously before taking off at a slow jog. He passes by Rufus's private guards swiftly and doubles his pace to find Axel.

The redhead looks up when he enters the room and says something loud about 'Oh, there you are!' as he reaches out an arm, pulling Sora to him. The boy spends the rest of the evening there; plastered to his mentor's side, because whenever he glances over, Kadaj grins at him like a bloodthirsty Cheshire.

The night's festivities do not end until well after midnight. On their way back to their ship, Axel pauses to speak with the host, handing over what is most probably a receipt. The man kisses Axel's cheek and promises to tip generously. Axel says something flirty and flamboyant and then comes to join Sora at the gangplank. His apprentice's unease has not escaped him, but they still have to wave and look attractive until all the guests are gone.

Axel is surprised when Rufus Shinra and his lackeys come towards them.

"Really, Mr. Shinra," he murmurs, his grin thinning. "You know this is a hosting job."

Rufus returns the smile with the same sickly vigor. "Yes, and our appointment next week is still in effect. However, I have not come to inquire about you."

Axel's jade eyes glint dangerously. "Sora won't be available for appointments for some time, you'll just have to keep it in your pants."

"Or your ass," Rufus returns, as their decorum slips, exposing Axel's thinly veiled dislike and Shinra's arrogance. "It's a pity about your pupil, however…"

His hand is perilously close to touching Sora; the brunet slinks backwards a step with disgust. Axel takes Rufus's offending hand, squeezing with undue strength disguised as affection.

"Tell the pilot, Sora," the redhead growls warmly. "That we will be ready to take off in a moment."  
Sora looks bewildered, but obeys, and Rufus laughs. "How unladylike, Axel! But that is what I like about you." The man reels Axel in, wrapping his arms around Axel's waist. "A week will feel so long. How about a kiss, now?"

"You know I don't work for free," Axel sneers, shoving himself back and walking away. He goes to find Sora, coming to a stop at the viewing deck where the boy is waiting for him. Axel absentmindedly makes a note that Sora is not, in fact, a child. His face is just so soft and innocent that it's easy to call him such. He looks especially young when he shows discomfiture and a little bit of fear.

"Well," Axel mumbles, sitting down and getting a drink, he motions Sora over. The ship shivers briefly as the engines heat for takeoff. "For a first engagement that went well. It's a pity the Jenova boys have their eyes on you."

"Who?" the brunet inquires as Axel draws him into his lap. Sora doesn't mind being held quite as much and he has noticed that it makes the workers happy. Irvine had liked it too.

"The trio of toadies that go everywhere with Shinra. They have that South Space hair," Axel continues. "Shame. They're a bad group, make sure you have that memorized."

The boy glances up at him, he asks how Axel how knows them so well. The man takes another drink and sighs.

"Rufus is just one of my regulars. He's also a friend of the Boss. Reno and Rude used to work for him, too, until Xemnas offered them triple their pay to work the Castle instead." Axel smirks like there's some kind of nasty inside joke.

**ﮚ**

Axel stops talking for the rest of the trip back, but he doesn't molest Sora any further either. He just holds him against his chest and drinks. When they arrive back at the Castle, to all her neon lights and glory, it's well into the small hours of the morning. Sora understands Roxas's strange sleeping patterns much better now.

To think of Roxas so suddenly rocks him where he stands.

Axel is chattering about the sleeping arrangements and getting another bed moved into his quarters, unless, of course, Sora wants to go back to his dorm with Kinneas and…

"Are we going to see how Roxas is doing?"

Axel stops talking and stares at him like he's a complete fool. Sora levels his gaze, defending himself with a lifting of his chin and squaring of his shoulders. He struggles to find the middle ground between keeping his dignity and playing his part: aristocrat and apprentice 'escort'.

"Why would we do that?" the redhead asks, a twisted glee painting itself across his face.

"He's sick."

"So?"

"He's—"

"He's a whore. We aren't friends, Sora. Roxas is great at his job, he can spread his legs with the best of them, but he isn't anything but a coworker to me." Axel sounds a little bit angry and a bit annoyed, as if all the rage he's letting off at Roxas's expense is really directed at himself. Sora doesn't understand how he can be so strong and so vulnerable at the same time.

"Is it a problem if I check on him alone?"

Green eyes narrow at him dangerously. His teacher looks ready to refuse him, but then relents.

Sora smiles and his only hope is if he can find the way back. With his memory, he retraces their steps up from the garage, ending near the Thirteen's common room. Several people he has not met linger there. He does not stop to look at them, instead continuing down another hallway. The paintings hung upon the walls and the drapes falling gracefully from the ceiling seem familiar, he proceeds. When Sora eventually passes by a doorway, he sees a number on it. This door reads X, Sora knows he is at least nearing Roxas's XIII. He follows his way along the hallway until he finally comes to Roxas's door at the farthest end.

There, he pauses for a time, wondering if he's being presumptuous, or, worse, if he might be interrupting something. He's about to turn away and leave when the door opens smoothly. It is tall man with luscious brown skin and long silverlite hair. His eyes are like molten honey as they slide onto Sora. This, Sora knows—without even a glimmer of doubt—is Xemnas. Number I: founder of the Thirteen and this Castle.

"Have you come to see Roxas?" His voice is very much akin to silk.

Sora nods dumbly.

The man steps aside, opening the door again. He looks as if he wants to say something more, but thinks better of it. He gives a short-lived bow and then walks away down the hall. Sora stares after him stupidly for a moment before remembering his purpose. He gives a perfunctory knock to announce his presence as he peeks his head in the doorway.

Roxas is up and about, looking much better than he had earlier in the day. The blond glances over and something excited flashes over his face.

"Come in."

Sora takes it as a good sign and approaches. "I came to see how you're doing."

Roxas's eyes are half-lidded, either from exhaustion or an emotion Sora can't identify. The man gives a fleeting glance to the door again.

"Unsurprising of Axel not to accompany you here." Sora blushes, unsure of whether to agree, or to defend Axel. Roxas makes note of his plight and rolls his eyes playfully, chiming, "I'm surprised you didn't get lost."

"It wasn't easy," Sora admits. He takes the time to look more closely at the room around him. Its color scheme is mostly black and white with a smattering of red in the soft, wonderful, carpeting and a few other items throughout.

Roxas sits down on his expansive bed and motions for Sora to join him. From there the brunet can clearly see _many_ shelves worth of books he had not noticed before. He wonders if Roxas has read them all.

"Not all of them, but many," the blond tells him. "A lot of these…" he reaches over for one, caressing the pages, "the paper ones, are more of a collection. They just don't make them like this anymore, do they?" His voice is painfully nostalgic, Sora jumps like a startled bird. He's never paid any attention to books. He'd always been out in the courtyard practicing his fencing and… He looks at Roxas and notices all the similarities in their faces, which pale in comparison to the differences between their bodies.

Roxas wears vestments; they even seem to carry a kind of important meaning for him. Enough to fully bear the weight of the word's connotation. Sora has seen only a handful of people wear clothes around the Castle, and Sora can tell beneath those clothes is nothing but smooth, achingly white, flesh. It's useful for nothing besides looking good, and is without a single show of muscle. Roxas is, Sora imagines, extremely agile, however.

"Sora?" Roxas blinks at him, his eyes are very pretty. Not pretty like Riku's, different; Roxas is entirely comprised of human beauty, while Riku is sultry and alien.

"Yes?" Sora answers hazily, just barely pulling himself up from his contemplations. It shows in his voice and then Roxas looks away from him tiredly, putting his book back into its proper place.

"Thank you for checking in on me," he mumbles.

The mood in the room has changed, it feels dry and stale and strained.

"No problem," Sora replies. He almost says he would do it for any of his friends, but Axel's anger comes filtering back into his head to stop him.

"I think I'm going to bed now." It's not true, Sora can tell.

"Oh, okay, goodnight, Roxas," he says as he lingers helplessly at the doorway, searching for the right words, but not finding them before the blond decries,

"Goodnight."

The brunet has no choice but to leave. He stands in the hall looking both ways and seeing no one… then it's time for him to wander back to Axel, somehow.

He runs into Demyx along the way, the man has a sitar strung over his back and Sora asks him if he can really play the thing. Demyx promises to show him some day as he politely leads the way to Room VIII.

Axel is waiting inside, exercising with violence and vigor. He motions impatiently to the second bed that's been brought in and Sora thinks he would almost prefer dealing with Irvine and Reno… they'd at least seemed happier.

Sora carefully removes the things he's wearing, the jewelry, the collar, and the cloth around his hips. He lays them out neatly so Axel can put them away where they belong. Then he crawls into the warm overstuffed bed, invariably to dream of Riku.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**


	4. IV The Opera House

It's really far too warm outside. The filthy Seine is filthier than ever and the Outlands are filled with garbage. The smell of it all combines together and blows along on a fetid summer breeze… It's like corpses, and some of the bleeding hearts acknowledge the fact that, yes, there are some of those; rotting on the out plains, waiting in the river bed.

Sora vaguely recalls Eugénie talking about the Outlands; she liked to talk about those kinds of things. About leaving Paris forever, never looking back. No one else really listens to her; they are content with their lives. Their mothers aren't the ones sleeping with Lucien and their fathers aren't heartless money mongers. At least, not that they know of, not yet. Sora has never been in the habit of going to the hill overlooking the Outlands with them. He has never been interested in glib talk about dreams and the bemoaning of petty things, nor has he ever cared to gossip about Paris's undulating high society.

He has always preferred to practice with his sword. Taking down imaginary foes, all the while reaching for a vague dream of success. That is why he thinks it's far too hot now, trapped as he is inside the finest suit money can buy this side of galaxy. He'd stood for hours to have it measured and though it was uncomfortable then, it's more so now. His body sweats from the assault of sultry air choking his pores.

His mother and father are walking a little ways in front of him. Sora is never entirely certain whether they put up that distance on purpose, or if he does. All he knows is, he isn't sure what color his mother's eyes are or her natural hair color, but he knows her dress is made from a luxurious Eastern silk his father had actually ordered for a commodity trade, but his buyer was killed in a duel, so it was a waste.

After they pass through the towering alabaster (ersatz, of course) gates together, the walk up from the curb to the opera house is not long. It's nothing Sora, young and in his prime, can't handle. The expansive gardens of the opera house are full of smiling hostesses and stiff formal butlers, each of them offering directions and simpering fallacious greetings, wan smiles and glinting unfriendly shows of teeth.

Sora does not pay them much attention, his eyes roving over hedges of perfectly sculpted shrubberies, forced into unnatural shapes, such as long extinct animals; at their sad feet, cheerless patches of flowers. Artificially pretty in artificial soil. Sora almost feels pity for them. They all have the potential to be lovely, full of color and unrivaled for vibrancy. If only they could pull their life from the sun and from the earth. But this is Paris, the new Paris.

Sora Donatien Roy Favreau is not looking forward to a night at the opera. He would rather be at home sharpening his swords, or possibly watching the changes in the stock market—he thinks the latter rather snidely. His disposition is not improved when his parents joyously exclaim that it is such a coincidence, because, look, there's Baron Aléjo and the Baroness! I do suppose Mademoiselle Kairi is around somewhere as well? Oh, she is! Sora, why don't you go greet her. 

Sora gives them the most simulated smile he can manage, looking as pretty as a flower. He loathes the awkward silences that sit uncomfortably between himself and his fiancée when they are in the public eye, but he relishes the chance to go inside, out of the heat and away from the simpering adults. He moves through the main doors with the flow of endlessly tacky high-heeled shoes.

He spots Kairi Aléjo's auburn hair as soon as he enters the foyer. She's tucked away in a corner, dressed in regal purple. Her ears are adorned with the earrings Sora doesn't remember giving her and her hair shines just a bit more red than usual, a new application of dye, he thinks. She looks up at him and smiles tightly. At least she doesn't pretend. They gravitate toward each other, both knowing exactly how this will go, it's always the same.

"Kairi." He takes her hand, kissing it and feeling the satin of her pearly gloves against his lips.

She bestows a benevolent nod to him, offers her arm and they begin to walk far, far away from catty aristocrats and their finely tailored clothes and their delusions of grandeur.

"I am unsurprised to see you," Kairi murmurs, leaning against him and sighing as if the entire world is the cause of her misery. It isn't true that they dislike each other. In fact, when they are left alone with no expectations, they've had several pleasant discussions, returning easily to the carefree ways of association that come from a shared childhood. It's only times like these, when they're forced to act the part of well-bred children betrothed to each other, that the tension fills the air and neither has the desire to choke themselves on it.

"Yes, when my parents insisted I come, I should have known," Sora smiles. He doesn't pretend either. "I hate the opera."

Kairi makes a thoughtful sound, looking ahead as they stroll along the theater's warm hallways, along carpets of a deep wine and enough fake wood that they might almost pretend it is real. On the walls are the soulless portraits of the popular stars, holding tightly to their one solitary nail, their grip equivalent to the length of their fame.

"I know you do."

"I didn't pick out the earrings."

"I know you didn't."

"Do you suppose it would be proper for us to sit together?"

"No, I will be with my parents."

On a whim he kisses her cheek, unaccountably relieved he will not have to perform a 'whispering coyly in her ear' routine and she will not have to giggle like a shy maiden. They are anything but.

They approach her gallery and he makes a grand show of bidding her goodbye and leaves with a cheeky grin. They are glad to be rid of one another, while the spectators are left to believe otherwise. That's all that matters and they will play their parts as spoiled young aristocratic brats until the tides turn.

With the help of an usher, he finds his intended seat and from there he waits, eyeing the high vaulted ceiling. The gold-leaf paints glint down at him, as does a great crystalmir chandelier, the light bent through its iridescent shards comes out a myriad of colors, each strategically lighting something. Sora finds the thing gaudy and lacking in taste, but he is not an opera connoisseur, so he keeps his mouth shut. Not that there is anyone to tell.

Ten minutes before the performance, Judge Villefort and his family enter. Everyone down in the lower galley is expected to stand and clap, but Sora yawns and glances back with every last ounce of his apathy. He misses his sword and his courtyard and the horde of thugs he had been fighting earlier in the day. He hates these social must-sees he's forced into. They are stuffy and they steal away all the energy and the fun and the imagination. He knows some people, like Kairi, are happy with a book or a reel of music. He isn't. He wants the physical world, something increasingly more difficult in an age so modern as this.

He's thankful he will not be expected to sit with his parents and, again, he detachedly ponders the canyon that has appeared between them. He wonders if his parents ever cared. He can't remember hugs or kisses or heartfelt gifts. Only thick play-acting and money and the strict check on his stance. Sora is thankful, because their absence means he can leave early. If they ask, he will claim he was feeling nauseous, which doesn't necessarily have to be a lie.

The lights are dimmed in a flood of punctuation and the music stirs and the layers of curtains pull up and out, a complex scene is exposed; it's almost as rich and completely tasteless as someone's real home. Millions of dollars drained away for the making of that set. Eugénie might just say the money would be better spent on the poor and the homeless in the Outlands, who are surviving on garbage like carrions.

Sora's head begins to pulse as soon as the large man in his flowing dark mahogany performance robes begins to sing. Sora makes a wet gurgling noise in his throat, just to annoy the people around him as he hurries past legs and out into the aisle.

He escapes through the doublewide doors to the entrance, receiving a glare from the usher, whom he ignores. He hurries on, seeing the doors at the other end of the foyer, the target of his flight, when something drops onto his head and bounces away along the carpets. He looks up to the central mezzanine and sees three men positioned between the two winding staircases.

One is a towering slave (Sora assumes) from the deep South, with dark skin and bald head. His image is made all the more imposing by the sunglasses perched on his nose. They are like small abysses, without any reflection of light.

Another man looks to be a young Italian inner-city punk with light skin, fanatically spiking hair of some filthy bastard color between blond and brunet and a grin cocky enough for several much greater men.

The third is a delicate figure wrapped in exquisite Eastern clothes, which brings out the subtle blue tint of his skin and the depth of his eyes; an aquamarine which reminds Sora of the Lunar Sea. This third figure has silver hair, pulled up delicately around his head. In a graceful sweep of finger the man brushes one rebellious lock from his eyes. He looks embarrassed.

Sora remembers the hit he has just taken to his head, snapping his chin down to search the floor, where he picks up a bag. The fabric is very smooth beneath his fingers and the clasp has just enough tarnish at the hinge to definitely be real silver. He looks up at that beautiful face and…

"Sorry," the man murmurs and pushes past his two guards in order to hurry down the stairs. His feet appear from within the confines of is robes, covered in blue satin slippers. Sora loops around the huge banister and waits at the base, holding the bag with the delicacy it deserves and trying not to feel too excited by something so paltry as a glimpse of another man's ankle.

"If he were a real man," the Moor grumbles to the Italian as they follow their charge. "He would have been able to dodge it."

The city-kid snickers loudly. "Riku has that effect on people." He eyes Sora with obvious condescension.

Riku, with his lively eyes and lovely hair, turns towards them with a fierce sneer. "Stop gossiping, you're like girls." The sharp pull of his mouth only serves to intensify what is already attractive about him. The men fall silent, even if their smiles are still wide and predatory. Sora is struck dumb by the entire display, his mouth proceeds on without him, trying to defend and impress in the same motion. There is limited success without the assistance of his brain.

"I fence."

"Oh, do you?" the Italian asks, his eyes glinting excitedly. "You should come and have a round with me, little prince."

"Baptistin!" Riku scolds. His eyes turn back to Sora and he makes an exasperated face. "They're rude. How can I apologize?"

He sounds a little hopeful, or perhaps that is Sora and his wishful thinking. His mouth proceeds without his mind once again.

"I'm without a ride home." Sora rejoices in the fact it isn't even a lie.

Riku's eyes smile, even if his mouth does not. He nods and commands his companions to get the carriage ready. The men go ahead while he and Sora linger behind.

"What is your name?" Riku wonders, his presence all soft lines and alien exquisiteness.

Sora has never felt more awkward and desperate in his entire life. Not when he first saw his father with a mistress, not when he first tried to lift a sword and found it too heavy, not when Kairi's breasts began to bud and he couldn't ignore the fact that one day he would have to touch them…

"Sora… Sora Fav—"

"Sora." Riku smiles because he doesn't care what family he's from and that stirs something precious inside of the brunet. He feels the same way, hates aristocratic airs. Money is convenient, but he could do without.

Sora holds out his hand, even though he really wishes to touch Riku much more than that.

"I have already ascertained your name," he spills smoothly and Riku raises an eyebrow at his attempt at charm.

"Come, I'm sure Bertuccio and Baptistin are prepared."

Riku takes the hand Sora has offered, their fingers brushing with a confirmation of mutual seduction.

**ﮚ**

He wakes up hard and moaning and Sora thinks to be embarrassed until he notices that Axel is sleeping like a log. Not that logs sleep, Sora admits to himself wearily. With great effort, he pulls himself up from the bed, moving towards the adjoining room, which he has thus far assumed to be a toilette.

It is, and like everything else in this place, the facilities are marvelous. Sora thinks it might actually be marble, lovely white marble with streaks of dappling gray.

The brunet smiles ruefully at his expansive surroundings and then down to his erection, curved excitedly toward him. He feels wound tight and not just from sexual energy. He misses his fencing and his arms cry out for the exercise. He's full of stress and anticipation. He does not think he can simply stroke it away, but, as he takes himself to fist, he figures he can try. It doesn't take much, a few tight snaps of his wrist and he's left with a mess on his stomach and his hand; all the more reason to wash now, in his opinion. There is only a bath and he wonders if the echoing rush of water will awaken Axel. In the end he decides, if that's the case, the man can always go back to sleep.

The water is warm, not that Sora has ever experienced a shortage of water in his privileged life, but this water is softened beyond reason, caressing his skin more like velvet than bathwater. He lowers himself down and has just begun to inspect the various bottles set around the edge of the tub, searching for a shampoo, when Axel appears and slides down beside him.

"What are you doing?" he laughs around a yawn. "Do you realize how early it is?"

Sora blinks at him, a testament to his ignorance on the subject. "No, I didn't even look at the time."

Axel grins, moving in close to lick away the sweat beading along his apprentice's neck. "It's barely past moonfall."

The brunet squirms back, brandishing a container of cleanser as if it will protect him. Axel takes it from his hands and replaces it with a different one.

"Don't you mean sunrise?" Sora murmurs absentmindedly as he reads the label's flowery script.

"No, we're steamy"—this is emphasized heavily by Axel's hand fondling his thigh—"creatures of the night. The sun is our moon and the moon is our sun."

Sora hurriedly pours some of the oil into his hand, lathering briskly and then scrubbing into his hair. Axel watches him for a time, not at all put out. Then he smacks Sora's hands away and begins to rub. It feels amazing, Sora lets out a truly mortifying little moan. The man chortles at his expense.

"I suppose we could make a habit of this early rising thing," Axel purrs, low and husky and entirely practiced. "What do you think? Warm water… nice oils… we could have fun."

Sora opens his eyes, just a squint beneath sodden bangs and soap bubbles, to stare at the man balefully. Axel can't decide if he's blushing or not, his cheeks had already been roseate from the fragrant steam of the bath, but he can't resist playing with him just a little more anyway, and slides one soapy finger down the back of his neck, following the line straight down.

Sora hurriedly changes the subject with the grace and skill of an educated nobleman. "Before you came here, did you know Reno?"

Number VIII is not fooled, but he lets the evasion go past him, making a bowl of his hands and bringing water up to cascade over Sora's head. The shampoo foams and Sora tries to pin down the name of the pleasant scent it emits.

"It isn't polite to assume all Northern Space boys know each other, Sora."

"With all the inbreeding you would think—" Sora clamps his mouth shut, stopping himself from commenting that the Northern barbarians are only a few scant steps from the Riven—the dangerous race of cannibals gone mad at the outermost fringes of civilized space—and then but a few more from beasts.

Axel scowls. "No," he bites. "I've never been in Northern Space. I grew up with everyone else, in the West." There's bitterness in his voice, Sora almost wants to prudently drop the subject. Let Axel have his sex, half as apology half as distraction.

Sora has never claimed to be prudent.

"Everyone else? In the West? You all knew each other in America?"

His master eyes him and he seems tired. "All of us, the Thirteen, we grew up in the Junkyard. Started out in separate tribes. Xemnas had his five from the start. Demyx and I were with Marluxia and Larxene and…" He shudders just a little. "Luxord, Roxas, and Saïx… they came from the Cold Zone barrier."

The Cold Zones: the pits farthest to the West from which few ever emerge. The sun is blocked out there, half because of distance and half because of piles of garbage eclipsing its light and warmth.

Axel gets a hold on himself. "Xemnas brought us all together."

The American Outreaches? Sora reaches for the fleeting glimpses he can remember of the Parisian Outlands: ravaged by pollution and warfare and millions of years of garbage. The Outlands can be measured in miles, the Outreaches (the _Junkyard_) spans itself among ruined planets, all of them connected, like the city of Venice, by filthy walkways of waste.

He's never seen the Junkyard; most haven't. Going near them is akin to suicide. Radioactive chemicals are dumped in some areas, criminals in others. Impoverished orphans and abandoned children running loose amongst the alleyways of refuse. It is the bloated corpse of an Empire once flourishing with life and progress. Now it's a decrepit Hell where dog-eats-dog, token to how the infamous Dog Street acquired it's name and how it became subject to thousands of urban legends and horror stories…

Sora glances in awe at the bathroom again. Gleaming marble tiles and flawless mirrors, crystal taps. They're celebrities now, they are _stars_.

"H-how did you…" he begins to ask, very aware of Axel's hand on his lower back, and the way his fingers are digging into his skin painfully. It's as if he doesn't let himself think about this very often.

Axel finally speaks, "...killed the right people."

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**

* * *


	5. V The Deputies of the Thirteen

Axel is rattled after their talk, his advances are more forceful than ever. After hearing his account, Sora is unsurprised by the strength he exhibits when pushing him up against the edge of the tub. The brunet strains his arms, testing the resistance, but is not really trying to escape. Axel's emotions are heady on the air, even overpowering the flowery scent of oils and shampoos. Oils Axel doesn't bother to use in preparing him. The redhead thinks it is a waste when they're immersed in water.

Axel isn't thinking in the Now, but maybe he'll feel bad about hurting Sora later. He's half forgotten Sora was a virgin until he came to this place but a few weeks ago. Axel _can't_ care right now, not when the scent of garbage is filling up his nose and the room is growing colder and the rats are squealing around them and Demyx is clinging to him as violent electrical storms—horrible and beautiful and unique to the Outreaches—rage around them, one bolt strikes nearby and leaves a trail of wild flame in its wake.

He tries to steady his cock and push inside of Sora's tight abandon, but in his haste he slips several times, only gaining more frustration and more urgency. He hears Sora make a strange sound. Something pained and it reminds Axel of the bats that came screaming out into the night, so desperate for food they would attack anything that moved.

He growls, one hand gripping Sora's hip far too tight, his bird-bones digging down into the brunet's joint. When he finally manages to push inside of Sora, he jerks again, the head of his cock irritating that first ring of pink. He slams back in, an attack on the small body crushed beneath him.

Sora is almost _right_. Sora feels strong and muscled beneath him and Axel _almost_ makes a mental note to be sure the boy continues to have time for his fencing, but then Sora makes another little muffled sound, as if he's hurt but he's trying to be selfless _for Axel_ and the man quickly blocks that out. Soap crowned water sloshes out of the deep tub and onto the glistening tiles, leaving them slick and filmy.

Axel doesn't have it within him to give Sora any sort of pleasure. He doesn't even know how, not in this state of coiling madness. He doesn't _care_ the boy is entirely flaccid. He simply continues to thrust, trying not to hear it when Sora begins to console himself, murmuring _Riku_'s name over and over, soft and hypnotic.

The strain in Axel's body does not take long to release itself and he pulls out swiftly, leaving behind warm cum and soreness. Sora is almost entirely in a fog, slumped against the tub's wall, his eyes closed. He breathes, air pooling shallowly in his shoulders.

Axel does his best do clean him up and then, with the movement of an automaton, carries Sora to his bed. They fall asleep, there together, atop his luxuriant red silk sheets.

**ﮚ**

When Sora awakens he is startled and jolts upright like a dog with a sound caught in its ear. His body protests these motions violently, his hips crying out in pain and his head throbbing. His stomach also joins the fray, declaring with several simple, plaintive gurgles that it has been hours since waking up and food should be obtained.

Axel slumbers uneasily at his side. Sora twists to stare at him and it seems he is watching far too loudly, and Axel's eyes flutter open. His mouth opens and Sora wonders what he's going to say, whether he'll be able to accept it or if he should prepare to tune it out, but then Axel says nothing. Instead he reaches up, cupping the back of his head, rubbing his thumb against the brand at the nape of Sora's neck. It stings slightly from still being so fresh; barely even a week old.

"I have one too," he offers sleepily, as if it should be some kind of placation. It isn't, but it's an interesting enough fact that Sora can change the railing of his thoughts.

"You too?" It seems surprising the Thirteen should be marked as well, more surprising that Sora has not yet noticed this supposed mark, despite everyone's lack of clothing and despite having been familiar with their appearances since childhood.

Axel splays his legs wide, his fingers dancing down between his thighs, making an exemplary circle around the mark on the silky white flesh to the right. He winks and urges Sora's head closer to look. The brunet half expects to forced into sucking him off, but Axel's cock does not stir. Apparently he has been left well enough sated. So, Sora moves, peaking at his thigh where dark black numbers glare up at him.

VIII.

He knows that is Axel's number but… "Is it really a _brand_, do you all have them?"

"Mhmm," Axel says, the purr in his voice has returned at last and there are more words in that one warm vocalization, a warning and half an apology. They will not be discussing the Outreaches ever again. "You just have to look hard enough." He sticks out his tongue in a playful gesture, as if to clear the air.

Sora's stomach takes that moment to pipe up once again. Axel gives a smile that could have possibly have been mistaken for fond.

"Yeah," Axel agrees, reaching over and tickling at his ward's stomach, making the boy squirm and feel like a child. "We still have to show you around, maybe introduce you to a few people, pick up today's schedule…"

They extricate themselves from Axel's far too comfortable bed. Sora stretches up, trying to pull the soreness out of his legs; all he achieves is an obscene crack from his shoulders and a pointed lack of eye contact from his friend.

Sora puts up the smile he's practiced since birth and they trek the halls in search of food.

Eventually, they come upon a cozy room that reminds Sora more of his grandfather's study than a dining room. It has a flickering fireplace—Sora doubts it's really burning—and the room is lined with bookcases. Far more books than in Roxas's room. Sora wonders if he comes here often… Perhaps they might even be his books having spilled over from his room? He gets caught up in just looking—he hopes soon this amazement will wear off because it is tiring to have his attention ripped away from him so easily.

"We do eat in here, you know," Axel announces airily. Sora turns to look at him, confused as to why the man felt it necessary to note that. The turn of his head itself answers the question.

At the far end of the room there is a great table covered in a fancifully woven cloth depicting such pleasant things as unicorns and dragons, not so fanciful nowadays when they've been genetically created by scientists, but it's really the age of the piece that is important. On top of the table is a variety of foods; the food is tempting, yet, obviously, not the source of his distress, which is the pair of naked bodies sitting together in one of the many plush armchairs.

One of them is a large man with a finely chiseled jaw and rampant orange-peel hair. The other is a petite creature by comparison. He has very well kept hair in a lilac hue; he's pale and smooth whereas his company is burly. He is stretched across his companion's lap and reading one of the books through a pair of thin rimmed glasses. He does not bother to glance up, even as Axel continues to grumble and Sora continues to stare.

Axel piles up two plates with food and hands one to Sora, urging him to take a seat in another chair. Through an already full mouth, he introduces the two men,

"That's Zexion and Lexaeus," he says, motioning, smaller to larger.

Zexion is terribly flexible, Sora notes. Lexaeus has his knees spread, happily displaying the fact that he is, in fact, penetrating his partner. Zexion's legs are stretched even farther, practically over the armrests. The brunet makes a useless, gibbering, sound and quickly shoves some food into his mouth. He can, however, see Zexion's brand, it's a calligraphic VI situated above his navel. Sora isn't sure he even wants to see Lexaeus's.

"Sora." Axel glances over at him tiredly. "These two are always like this. They actually like each other, or something. Get used to it."

Sora nods and feels almost delirious. He shovels some more food in his mouth and tries not to imagine his own legs pulled into the position. Though, if he ends up stuck in this place, it may very well come to pass.

Zexion seems vaguely annoyed by their continued presence, enough to put his book away and have himself fucked properly. The noise and the sight and… Sora shoots Axel a pleading look. They take their breakfast and run.

For the time being then, they're just wandering the halls, two soldiers of the Scarred Mind and Shellshocked Soul. The brunet really can't think about it anymore, so he says the first thing that comes to mind,

"Roxas seemed a lot better when I saw him last night."

Axel looks at him out of the corner of his eye. "That's… nice?"

Sora meets his gaze with all of his aristocratic defiance. "Axel, he was sick."

"He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself."

"That's not the point."

"What? Do you think he'll be your friend? _Tsway-niou_, Sora, just stop thinking about Roxas! When he gets tired of seeing your face you're just going to end up hurt." Axel nonchalantly leaves his plate on a table as they pass by it in the hall, but then his fists clench and all his anger is back in a stampede.

"It doesn't make any sense to start out as enemies," Sora sighs. "You have to try being friendly first."

The redhead snorts with disbelief and laughter. "Sure, whatever. C'mon, let's go find out what clients I'll have the pleasure of entertaining today."

Sora follows after Axel in silence; uncertain of what else he can say without setting off the man's temper. They find their way to what looks like a computer-automated mailroom. There are many boxes set into the wall, though they don't appear to be locked. Axel reaches up to one, pulling down several sheaves of paper. Something large drops down onto his head and he curses. Upon picking it up and inspecting his papers, he hands the items to Sora.

"I think these are for you," he laughs.

A signed picture of Irvine Kinneas and a packet of lube?

"…thanks…"

The humor is rather lost on him.

**ﮚ**

Axel says they have a full night ahead of them and there are some things they need to do beforehand. One being the piercing of Sora's ears, which the boy protests to the best of his ability, but Axel offers to send him back to the Second floor. So, the piercing is done with a pressurized little gun and it only burns and itches for a moment, leaving the lobes with a slightly red hue, mostly hidden beneath the blue-stones Demyx has donated to their cause. As if he thinks it will help, Demyx even adds music to the scenario and Sora almost asks him to stop.

He becomes distracted when he notices the IX sealed onto the back of the man's left hand.

"Like it, sweetheart?" the blond asks cheerfully while Axel is poking holes through the boy's ears. He's talking about the music, but Sora is still watching the numbers on his hand.

"Why do they mark you?" Sora finds himself spilling. "I thought… I mean, wouldn't you stay anyway?"

The musician's hand falters, thankfully Axel's does not; he puts in the other earring and turns away. He seems to 'surrender' the right to answer to his friend. Demyx's face, however, is pale.

"Well, uh…" The man casts a panicked look to the redhead, who continues to ignore him, instead cleaning off the small gun and putting things back into place. "Some of us would."

"But not you?" Sora asks, reaching up to fiddle with his sore ears. "It… I don't understand, you probably have enough money, if that's the issue you could just buy yourself… but I thought that all of you started this with Xemnas?"

Axel sneers. "We did."

There would have been more talk—Sora, against better judgment, would have continued to ask—but there is shouting from the hallway. Demyx winces and Axel says something about irony as he goes to the door. His two companions follow, peaking out at either side of him. The scene that lays out before their eyes is Saïx: pointed ears, steel-blue hair, and crossed scar making him distinctive and easy to identify. He has tiny Roxas pinned up against the wall by the throat. The blonde's bare feet are scant, suffocating, inches from the ground.

"Have you, forgotten, Roxas?" the man snarls, wild and savage, sharp nails pricking skin to leave wells of blood. "You either serve here or you return to the Zone! Make your choice!"

Roxas's mouth moves mutely, but he still manages to summon a burst of frost. It sends Saïx stumbling back blindly. The blond falls heavily to the floor as Saïx growls, trying to clear the ice from his eyes. Sora darts out from the doorway, hurrying to Roxas's side despite Axel calling after him, telling him not to. He feels Demyx's hand brush against his arm, trying to grab him and pull him away; he fails

When Sora gets close, he can see how Saïx's eyes have become large, white, and pupil-less: reminiscent of the full moon. He is advancing on both of the younger men with a look of bloodlust.

Sora is reminded of the warning his mentor had given him just the previous day.

_"Don't fuck with the others." _

And now he understands, because he honestly believes Saïx is about to kill the both of them with his bare hands and, frankly, Sora doesn't expect either Demyx or Axel to risk their lives to save him. He's stunned when Axel steps in front of them and orders Demyx to go find some help, in a voice that's got all sorts of distorted inflections; everywhere from resigned to thrilled to angry.

Sora watches as Axel and Saïx fight over them like dogs: clawing and biting. It's full of raw power and uttered magic words. It isn't fluid and graceful like fencing… Roxas gives a weak cough, but when Sora tries to help him up, the blond just stares up at the fight. There's something hazy and perhaps a little hysterical to the look. His hands are fumbling ineffectually at his pockets, searching and searching—frantic—until he finds what he's looking for.

Roxas gets up on his own and pulls away when Sora tries to steady him. Number XIII smiles tiredly, apologetically, at him in return for his assistance. Sora doesn't have time to think about what the look means, because Roxas is slipping into the melee. He ends it entirely after a series of confusing, disjointed seconds. He leaves a knife jammed into Saïx's shoulder, hilt glinting maliciously. The man freezes and Axel tenses warily to see if he will attack again.

Saïx's eyes shrink, regaining their color, he crashes to his knees, clutching the injury, and hissing through clenched teeth.

Roxas turns to regard Axel, his face terrifying and emotionless. "Just like old times."

And then he flees the scene with all the swiftness and grace of a hunted deer… Not that any of those remain in this terrible world.

Axel falls back against the wall, shaking and panting, just like a dog.

**ﮚ**

Demyx returns with three people in his wake. The first is Vexen. The doctor takes a single look at the hallway and an expression of complete and total fury passes over his face. Sora is not as surprised as he could be by his rage, Vexen never seems to enjoy plying his trade on his patients. Sora can't decide whether he hates to see people suffering or if it's because he would rather see them die. Or possibly because he would rather be the one causing the pain? The latter one is just too much for Sora to want to consider.

The other two men are unfamiliar. Both are tall, but one is blond with short-cropped hair and a beard; the other has a long, dark, tangle of dreadlocks pulled up tight at the top of his head.

Luxord and Xaldin, Sora realizes belatedly. They are often depicted together because of the striking picture they make side-by-side.

The darker one goes forward to assist the doctor in aiding Saïx, the lighter glances at Axel sharply.

"And what possessed you to put yourself between them, love," he asks quietly, his cultured tones carry a hint of mocking. Axel sneers and then gives him the finger. Luxord plays himself as if unperturbed by the rudeness. "You know how they are. You know there's nothing you can do, and yet, you still put yourself between them. It's like reaching your hand down to take the bone away from the two dogs slavering over it. And you're certainly not their master."

"Nice metaphor, Luxord, now shut it!" Axel snaps.

"Roxas can take care of himself."

Sora is struck again by words Axel had muttered just that morning, the feeling of realization is not dissimilar to having a knife jammed into his shoulder and… He's just barely beginning to understand the dynamic between these people, that is not shown before the public eye. The smiling faces and provocative sexual positions are as far from the truth as possible, and fresh coats of paint need to be applied regularly to keep it all hidden away. Their history has left them with some kind of ugly yellow infection and, no matter how clean, gauze is never pretty.

Vexen is swift and efficient in his care of both Axel and Saïx. The cuts are easy to sow up with dark thread and to cover with a spray of fleshy liquid bandage. The sub-dermis bruises remain, ugly and telling.

"Cover them with makeup," Vexen instructs, his scowl vicious. "I will tell Xemnas of this." For some reason, he is looking right at Sora and the brunet freezes up, awkward and out of place.

Xaldin, who still has not said a word, pulls Saïx roughly to his feet and the two of them head down the hall. Luxord offers to accompany Vexen in his quest to find Roxas. Demyx and Sora stand warily beside Axel, and finally the crowd has dispersed.

Axel's first action is to cuff Sora by the back of the head with his fist and Sora can't say he doesn't deserve it, but he won't say he regrets his actions either.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.

* * *

**


	6. VI The Furlough

Axel heads back for his quarters, rubbing an unpleasant green bruise on his ribs. He rants the entire way there and Sora half listens, just to be polite, mostly listening to see if Axel asks him a question.

Axel pauses when his hand has just alighted on the doorknob to his room, one he doesn't keep locked, unlike Roxas. He glances at Sora and his eyes seem tired, even from within their vibrancy.

"Also, Shinra has commandeered most of our time. His boys must have it for you pretty bad." He honestly looks worried, frowning, and his body thrums with emotion. "Stick close to me. I mean it, don't just conveniently forget my warnings again."

His eyes are a kind of sickly green, much like his bruise. Even the tribal—racial, anyone with enough Northern blood has them—tattoos curving over his cheekbones seem to convey his concern. Sora… Sora laughs. Axel doesn't understand why, at all.

"Look, kid, this really isn't funny. The Jenova boys are bad news. Do you have that memorized? If they get a hold of you, you aren't going to like it!"

Sora smiles, urging open the door, brushing past him gleefully. "Yeah, I see how tough you are, Axel," he teases, mirth twinkling in skyscape eyes.

Axel is struck dumb by the jab at his ego, he almost calls Sora ungrateful and he almost wants to yell, but Sora is laughing and smiling and in such a way… such a way that Axel hasn't seen from anyone in years. It's just playful and friendly without the underlying current of melancholy and fear he gets from Demyx.

He follows Sora inside, catches the younger man up in his arms and kisses him, _nicely_. These physical affections are all he has left and he hopes, desperately he hopes—something he's avoided doing for a very long time—Sora understands this one is special. This isn't his tongue crammed down his throat like an invasion: this is a gift and a plea.

When he releases the brunet, Axel goes to his trunk of clothes and selects their attire for the night. He bedecks Sora out in gold and cobalt, the color looks lovely on him, fastens the collar around his neck, and then they are ready to go.

This time, the party is on a pleasure ship floating along within the Jin Sha Jiang nebula as if it were a river. The ship is of civilian class, however, Rufus Shinra—never one to take risks and always one to have enemies—has had a few very important modifications made to his luxury vessel. These, of course, are not the concern of the lovely escorts he has hired.

When Axel's ship pulls in to dock with the _Diamond_, Rufus and his trio of toadies are there to greet them. Rufus and Axel perform their verbal dance, just as before, thinly veiled insults, sexual tension, and extreme dislike. Each emotion heavy on the air, but nothing compared to the lust the Jenova triplets eyeball Sora with.

The largest, with his odd, flattop hairstyle, eyes the collar around Sora's neck without any semblance of tact. Kadaj is worse, blatantly dragging his eyes up and down Sora's toned chest. The eldest brother, Yazoo, is the only one to look Sora in the eye and smile.

"It's a pleasure to see you again," he says. His voice is silky and pleasant, much like the strands of silver hair hanging to his shoulders.

Sora is awed, tempted to forget Axel's warnings and follow this man wherever he leads because he reminds Sora so very much of Riku. The spell and that pleasant image are shattered to bits of shrapnel when _something_ flashes in Yazoo's eyes. His mouth pulls cruelly and the brunet takes a cautious step towards Axel.

His mentor wraps an arm around his shoulders and flatly suggests they head inside.

Rufus gives a congenial show of teeth. "Wonderful idea, Axel. My guests, pardon me: I've been bragging about you again, but my guests have been waiting to see your exquisite fire-dancing."

The redhead pulls his charge closer, his teeth exposed in what could have been a smile once, maybe. Sora is more interested in this fire-dance, which he has heard nothing about, up until now.

"And you know how I hate to disappoint the fans, Rufus, _dear_."

They're like snarling wolves with each other. Though, Sora takes note that the heady scent of sexual air between them is not one-sided. There is something attractive about Rufus's arrogance, he _supposes_, perhaps, most definitely, _especially_, to someone like Axel.

Inside, there are not more than fifteen people, all of them milling at a small bar or lounging tiredly upon plush couches. There is one man who draws Sora's eye immediately due to his striking resemblance to the Jenova brothers, and certainly to Riku. However, there's something weary and angry with the man. As they draw nearer, it becomes easy for the young aristocrat to discern what it is.

These are all SOLDIERs. Their shoulders are set and their eyes are aglow. Sora wonders if he should be proud of himself or if he should be afraid.

Fencing, he had once been dismayed to learn when he was young, was not just about the use of the sword. There was history and culture to learn, which ran deep in the veins of modern and ancient society. As the years passed, Sora came to understand the need to learn and became avidly interested in it. The use of the sword crossed literally hand-in-hand with that of the military. Though, with time, the techniques employed by the SOLDIERs evolved as technology did.

Nowadays, any common man can join the military and, with great ineptitude, pilot a large mecha with ease. However, it is those who have skills elsewhere—who have studied the sword—who truly succeed and work their way through the ranks. Only those dedicated to the constant battle of life can withstand, not only the intensive steroids, but also the mako therapy.

Sora remembers Maximilian Morrel from his brief stints into the habitat of his Parisian peers. Maximilian had been very large, linguistically challenged, hopelessly in love with Valentine Villefort, and kinder than any other man Sora had ever met before, despite his strength and harsh military training.

These men are entirely different, save for the dark haired man who is grinning at everyone in the room with wild enjoyment.

These men are all younger then his father, but older than kind Maximilian been back then. The exception is, Sora thinks, the silver-haired gentleman with the long sword strapped at his hip. These are the generation of SOLDIERs to come just after Morcerf and his treachery… these are the men who had to deal with the desperate, starving refugees on the ends of space who were only trying to survive.

These men are stained, unwillingly, with the blood of innocents.

Sora forces a smile onto his face, notices how Axel does the same, and knows it is the right move. As frightening as the Jenovas's interests are and as vile as Rufus is, they are here, obviously, to entertain SOLDIERs on furlough and these men desperately deserve the respite.

Rufus makes the introductions, General Sephiroth, highest in rank, certainly comes first. The man's eyes are vivid from within the confines of his face, his altruistically bottle green eyes remind Sora painfully of Riku. He wants very much to just lose himself in jade depths; however, Sephiroth looks nothing like the natives of Janina. He is plainly some sort of pseudo-human and his skin is a _ghastly_ white.

The second highest in rank is the smiling man, with his tousled charcoal hair and eyes: Zack. The rest of the men are all the same rank and lose individuality within the neon confines of their mako infused eyes.

Sora only manages to hold onto two more names, one is of a large Moor by the name of Barret, and only because Barret is very loud. The other is a polar opposite. Cloud Strife is the small man sticking like glue to Zack's side. Sora recognizes the bewildered look on his face—shies away from imagining all the blood the young man must have seen—and feels a sort of empathy for him. Sometimes he thinks about Leon, wishes he'd had the man to cling to for a while longer, or at least someone to just take his hand and guide him. Cloud is lucky to have Zack.

Sora smiles pleasingly, reminds himself he is a courtesan, and tries not to act half as nervous as he feels, especially with Kadaj's gaze still burning holes in his shoulders.

Most of the SOLDIERs have no use for male whores. No use for whores at all. They are far too enthused in drinking away the screams of their victims. Zack, however, quickly shows his colors as an outrageous flirt. Sora thinks—unintentionally analyzing as he would in a bout without even realizing—that it's all compensation for the man. Zack's attentions are passed around openly, though he never abandons the introverted Cloud at his side. Zack runs a teasing finger up the center of Sora's bare chest, even as he spills a colorful offer to Sephiroth.

The brunet is surprised when Sephiroth turns toward them and gives a tight-lipped smile.

"Commander, please, do not tempt me. My men would never respect me again if I were to… what was it you just said… 'roll around in the sack', with you?"

Cloud's face turns an extravagant shade of red beneath his mop of blond hair, all on Zack's behalf, naturally, because the Commander is unfazed.

"I'll bring you around yet, sir."

Sora wonders if the man is half as much of a faggot as he pretends to be. He thinks not, due to the fact that the others around them seem unbothered. He endures Zack's attention, converses briefly with Sephiroth, much to his delight and astonishment. The man regards him quietly and then asks how long he's been fencing.

Eventually, Sora gives up on trying to coax Cloud from within his shell and just smiles. Despite his lack of social life back in Paris, Sora had always been warm and friendly to those who hadn't bored him to tears. He finds Cloud's withdrawal perplexing, but his consideration is drawn away when Rufus begins announcing that he's gotten things ready for Axel's dance.

VIII looks annoyed by the announcement, but resigned nonetheless, he makes some vague motion. Sora doesn't know how to interpret it, so he stays close to the SOLDIERs.

Their party has been proceeding in the observation deck for hours, yet no one has really taken notice to the view as of yet. When the lights are suddenly shut off, they have no choice but to look out through glass, reinforced a million times, and into the nebula where veins of starlight go shimmying past.

Something sparks among them, embers flying as if flint is being struck. Axel's frame is outlined with a writhing snake of fire. The swirling creature spreads, covering the man, obscuring even his silhouette, until he is nothing more than just another star. This is a lodestar, however. It is close and warm; the heat bounces off leather uniforms, suits, and skin, leaving behind torrid caresses and sweat. Then Axel truly begins to dance, his limbs a tangle of fiery grace and his body fluid and molten. The flames leap higher with the rush of air.

Sora wonders where Axel learned such an impractical skill, but cannot fault it's beauty.

Barret only seems impressed the fire hasn't gone out yet, what with all of Axel's 'flailing about'.

However, everyone else becomes lost in that figure, eyes chasing after half-realized images in the blaze. Sora's mind conjures up beautiful phantoms of Riku, maybe Riku dancing, his loose clothing billowing around him, a close-slipped smile lighting his face.

What Sephiroth sees, what Zack sees, what Cloud sees? Sora doesn't know. He is willing to leave them to their own conjurations while he dips voluntarily into a world of fancy. This transition proving much more pleasant than the times when he had tried to console himself of the pains in his body as he was fucked.

But… then something slithers around his body and, before he finds it in himself to make a sound, he's paralyzed, his throat working uselessly, his eyes frozen, and his body only faintly vibrating from terror in the realization that his efforts to move have gotten him nowhere.

Several pairs of hands drag him away into the dark of the room. Zack's fingers slip limply from where they'd been resting at his wrist.

Sora hears the clicking of a motorized door and is dragged into a dim hallway, away from the observation deck, away from Axel and safety and it doesn't take much longer for Sora to realize what it is that's happening to him. The weight of knowledge settles into the pit of his stomach and multiplies as he tries to fight but finds himself unable.

"It's one of Yazoo's specialties," Kadaj's voice whispers in his ear, as if reading his thoughts, or maybe seeing the panic in his eyes. "_Stop_."

The youngest brother, Loz, towers over all of them and the childlike smile on his face is disturbing considering the circumstances. His hands dance excitedly over the delicate line of Sora's collarbone.

"He's really pretty, brother." The man laughs eagerly and then begins to pet Sora's hair.

Kadaj removes the collar from around Sora's neck and tosses it down the hall. Sora hears it skittering away and takes it for the symbolism it is.

Yazoo watches the proceedings from behind a curtain of sterling hair, aquamarine eyes dark with lust. Though, unlike his brothers, he keeps himself well contained, crossing his arms over his chest in a rustle of fabric.

"Now that—that _slut_—Axel is out of the way…" Kadaj purrs, his fingers starting at Sora's hip and following the trail beneath the fabric around the boy's waist.

Loz rips the cloth away after a moment, letting it flutter to the ground, the only graceful thing left before unrefined hands are all over him. Teeth are at his throat; hands are on his cock and his thighs. Fingers are stroking and pinching painfully. It's like a contest to see who can stand the violent foreplay the longest. Which one of the brothers will break first, who will hoist Sora up and fuck him raw?

Sora wants to cry out, do something, but then he glances up and meets Yazoo's eyes. He feels the connection between them. Feels the oily touch of their lust go straight into his mind.

Yazoo smiles slowly, mockingly beatific. His long hair sways hypnotically as he takes two steps forward, but does not touch him.

"We might give you back in one piece," he says; his voice has lost all its silken allure to the grating of desire.

"Oh, brothers," Loz whimpers in wonderment. His perfectly tailored pinstripe slacks are tented around his cock, but it seems to be Kadaj whose patience is reaching its last.

He fingers Sora's hole for a moment, dry flesh sticking and pulling and stretching.

This is, Sora, realizes, more horrible than anything he's ever experienced before. He's never truly been helpless, never been violated in quite this way; where it isn't just his body. Never where it is his very existence held still for the pleasure of someone, with only the most twisted of intentions.

This isn't a petty sort of helplessness. This is the ravaging destruction of landscape and Sora can't even properly whimper, can't cry out, can't _cry_ when Loz and Kadaj lift him between them and Loz is this huge, terrifying, behemoth at his back. He's a physical constraint and Kadaj is fucking his pretty pink hole. He uses the unnatural strength in his arms and the play of gravity to make every slam up into Sora's tight asshole an experiment in acceleration.

Worst of all are Yazoo's eyes. Boring into his mind, seeping horrifyingly deeper with every languid blink, seeping downward into the delicate depths of his _soul_. Those eyes are reminding him, reminding him he can't look away, he can't pretend this isn't happening, and he can't pretend he didn't bring this upon himself.

Then it all stops.

It's like drowning and suddenly bursting forth into the air and his lungs are screaming and he's slumped and gasping for breath and there are some strange meaty sounds and someone is talking to him or he thinks they are, but he isn't really listening because his heart is beating in his throat for some reason and his ears feel hot and burning.

Someone else is yelling, screaming louder than his lungs.

"Zack, he's bleeding!"

"Shh, shh."

The air lights up briefly, as if Axel is still dancing, as if time has taken pity on him and turned back to when he was standing between Sephiroth and Zack, watching Riku dance, a symbol of hope; a portent in the flickering of Axel's flame.

Then everything becomes dark, he feels his head loll to one side and then his consciousness slips away.

The last thing he hears is Zack whispering,

"Shh, sleep. Pray you don't remember in the morning."

**ﮚ**

Valentine de Villefort, the Judge's daughter, is Paris's most melancholy beauty. She is a quiet creature with doleful eyes and a soft mouth; her lips always pressed stiffly together, as a ward against the world.

Her silence is brought about by the strained life of her home. Though, to be truthful, it is no more strenuous than any of her other friends'. They all have their stories. Hers is of a dead mother, a vindictive replacement, a distant father, a spoiled half brother, and her grandfather.

Her grandfather was once known in the Parisian government as Monsieur Noirtier: an intelligent, regal, powerful man to be respected. Now nothing more than a shriveled old husk, tolerated by his despicable son, hated by his newest daughter in-law and loved only by his granddaughter.

Together Valentine and Noirtier suffer under the rule of _Procurer du Roi_ Villefort's strict and frigid ways, and the thinly veiled hatred of his second wife, Héloise.

Her aged grandfather was rendered mute and immobile in a duel, though within his mind he is still very much the man of his youth. He is as sharp as a knife and easily expresses himself—to those with the mind to listen—through the subtle expressions of his eyes. Valentine has been trained since early childhood in how to recognize his messages.

This holds relevance only to explain why it is that Valentine is the first to notice the changes in Sora.

The occasions to draw that boy away from his sword are few and far between, and so, when he begins to appear at several social functions a month, it draws her attention.

She gravitates away from Franz d'Epinay, her fiancé. Their marital arrangement is distressingly similar to that of Sora and Kairi's—that being, it is distressingly commonplace. She finds her way to the boy's side and gives a polite curtsy. It is an apology for the interruption of his conversation with a mutual friend, Beauchamp, editor and photographer for a well read rag of a newspaper.

She is grateful when something more interesting, gossip-worthy, catches the editor's eye and he hurries away, leaving her alone to dissect Sora's odd behavior.

"It is quite a pleasure to see you," she murmurs, doe-like.

Sora smiles broadly in return. "And you, Mademoiselle Valentine." His speech is the same as ever, spoken brightly, only slowing down to form his words with phonetic perfection out of habit, not of care.

Valentine offers him her arm and together they leave the bustle of the main ballroom and walk the outer corridors, where it is quieter and the air is cooler. She has never been in the best of health and she appreciates the calmer atmosphere.

"It is rare to see you out mingling so often," she announces. Her heels click primly, the sound echoing along the gray stone corridors. No one else walks these halls, the others far too satisfied with the life of the party. It is the only sound in the silent hallway, as Sora does not answer her. She glances up at him through a fall of cherry-hued hair. She finds his face to be distant, lips parted and forming silent words, his sapphire eyes dull and glazed.

"Sora?" she asks, voicing herself to regain his attention. The snap back to reality is sharp and instant.

"I don't know." He laughs his ill manners away with simple, childish ease, something that comes naturally to him, despite being seventeen, a year older than her. "I just felt like coming out." They push open a door and step out into the night air. The Parisian moon sits high and artificial in the sky, its face a myriad of colors, like a particularly lovely stained glass window.

They pace the courtyard for a time, admiring the simulated flowers, pretending they are real, pretending there are not questions hanging on the dark air between them. At last, Valentine moves for the bench—the seat is inlaid with a mosaic neither of them bother to look at before sitting down. It might, possibly, have been extraordinarily beautiful.

"I've watched you," she tells him, hoping to pry his secrets from him yet.

"Of course you have."

Valentine knows, when one does not speak it allows only for watching and listening, perceiving and understanding. Sora comprehends this only because of a little of his studies, but mostly because of his strange, endearing, ability to win peoples' hearts.

"You've behaved strangely the last month."

"We've all behaved strangely," Sora replies glibly. "I believe the Count of Monte Cristo's triumphant debut to Paris is to blame, and by extension evidently, Albert."

Valentine is startled to hear that name. She was not aware that Sora was in the Count's acquaintance. That is, however, irrelevant to the current conversation.

"If something troubles you…" she begins to probe.

There is a sudden uproarious fanfare, a blowing of ancient brass-wrought trumpets and a clapping of hands and a shifting of skirts. A loud voice, well paid and well practiced for its volume, announces the latest arrival to the party.

"The _Comte de_ _Monte Cristo_ and his escort!"

"Speak of the devil," Sora laughs, springing to his feet, wiry and graceful, just like the fighter he is.

He leaves her with a short bow that could never be confused as polite, and then hurries away. His stride is full of anticipation and glee.

It puzzles her greatly.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain), and Memoirs of a Geisha.

* * *

**

* * *

**


	7. VII The Château on the Champs Élysées

Baptistin's blade arches high, sharp and glistening, swift and graceful. He takes first blood, though the wound is not as deep as it could have been. The man smiles and preens like a peacock, stroking greased hair back and failing to leap aside as an attack comes towards him.

Sora repays him the grievance in kind.

"You're quick," Baptistin purrs with his rough, listing, city-_Italiano_ accent. His dark eyes dart towards where Riku is seated watching. His cool, regal face pulled into tight amusement. Bertuccio looms at his young master's side, he looks as if he would love nothing more than to see Sora cut into ribbons.

"How long have you studied?" Sora wonders, dancing in close and then back again at Baptistin's dispatch.

"Years," the man replies. Sora is barely able to hear him over the clang of their blades. He catches the boy's wrist, but the brunet does not lose his weapon to the sting. "You are skilled." Baptistin admits, giving a frivolous and provocative bow.

Sora bites, rushing in, not out of anger or foolishness, but out of the desire to fight and prove himself before Riku's eyes. He does not dare glance at the object of his own admiration. Wintry skin, sea green eyes, and full mouth would, undoubtedly, distract him.

"Who did you study under?" Sora inquires. Their blades come to impasse and his is the first to slide, hitting Baptistin's hilt. Their faces are close, he can see the point of the Italian's canine teeth and…

"The Count."

There is a small knife threatening his gut. There is a kind of communication between warriors. It is like a coat of poison, but Sora bravely exposes himself to it, even as Riku rises in a shuffle of fabric and anger.

"That's enough," he snaps.

Baptistin puts the knife back into its hidden place and turns to act sheepish for his young master. Bertuccio gives his silent feral smile; something stunningly white from within the dark confines of his face.

"Baptistin…" he laughs. "The boy had you beat."

The Italian sneers and Riku swiftly intercedes.

"Let's take you to Ali to have you mended," he looks upon the blood on Baptistin with disdain, but goes to Sora's side and leads him inside the _château_ on the Champs-Élysées, as if he's a war hero come home. The admiration, Sora admits, is not unpleasant at all.

The Count of Monte Cristo suffers nothing less than the absolute perfection within his home. The rugs are plush, seeming to suck at ones feet as they pass by, the paintings are all authentic and priceless, the chandeliers are crystal giants wired to provide a multitude of functions. And everything glitters of gold.

This high standard is also enforced upon the mysterious Count's servants, few as they are, they serve their purposes with well-practiced precision. Ali is a mute alien being with teal skin, small squinting facial features in a bald egg-like head, and long swinging limbs. The prim expression on his face does not change as he takes stock of the injuries Sora and Baptistin have dealt each other. He comes closer to them, moving on tentacle-like legs devoid of feet. He caresses each of their wounds in turn with his quintet of wriggling boneless digits.

His touch turns their skin translucent, as if they are made only of layers of pixels and he has turned their flesh to a different opacity and zoomed in. He stimulates platelets and clotting and pulls away filthy fragments, left behind in the slice of the blade, and then the wounds are gone.

At his task's end he snaps up his head, his large earrings swinging wildly at the end of dangling earlobes.

Bertuccio and Baptistin also turn and look in the same direction.

Riku reaches out and runs his delicate fingers across their shoulders, some kind of sign and comfort that Sora does not yet understand. However, whatever the message may be, the stress eases away from the human's shoulders.

"I must go assist in preparing dinner," the great Moor rumbles from within his barrel chest. He walks away, heavy boots thundering on the expensive tiles inlaid with real whorls of rosé quartz and silver.

Baptistin departs in a likewise manner, muttering, instead, about going to change clothes.

Ali simply slinks out of the room, silent and unnoticed.

Sora and Riku remain, both of them dwarfed by the cavernous room: full to the brim with classical interior designing, which leaves one with only a room and no sense of those that live here.

At last, Riku makes a sighing noise and reaches out, grasping Sora's arm.

"Come, we have a little time before I will be needed."

Riku pulls him swiftly down the maze of hallways. Sora has never been this deep into the mansion before and does not think he will be able to get back out of this place without assistance. The chamber they emerge into is not nearly as extravagant as the rest. It is decorated mostly in a sort of burgundy fabric with the prints of the orients and there is a harp by the covered window. There are large pillows strewn across the floor and the canopied bed stands quietly in the corner.

It is there Riku draws him and the brunet feels himself begin to sweat and palpitate. The heavy colors of the room make it warm and inviting. The bed is exquisitely soft and… so are Riku's lips.

"This is ridiculous," the forgotten Prince whispers tiredly, angrily. There are many such emotions hiding within his shell. Sora is so entirely stunned to have been kissed and released within a matter of seconds he is not sure how to respond.

"What is?" he mumbles, unable to tear his eyes away from Riku's lips, which are somewhere between the color of roses and lilacs. It's beautiful against the cerulean hue of his exotic skin.

Riku pokes him with one of his perfectly manicured nails; it bites into the flesh left exposed by his unlaced tunic.

"This is. We are."

Sora wants to feel affronted at being called ridiculous. "What?" he asks, devoid of any sense or intelligence.

Riku's face softens for a moment. The expression just makes him that much more attractive. Somewhere in the brunet's mind, it registers that this is a completely superficial attraction and he's a hypocrite, acting no better than any other Paris socialite. He is all the things Eugénie decries to hate the most as she gazes out from the top of the hill: down into the squalid war zone, which was once a city, but is now the Paris Outlands. But… can that be true? Can someone like Riku be involved with anything that shallow? Sora has made the utmost of effort to spend time with him, learn him and come to know him. However, the time of the Count of Monte Cristo's consort is valuable, ungodly difficult to get and… Then all the frustration and restless anger floods back into Riku's dramatic eyes.

"Why don't you see, Sora? This… this, you fawning over me, as such, is going to get us nowhere. There are things he—" Riku pauses, his eyes becoming very wide for a moment, then he settles back in, his voice steady and _lugubrious_. "No, he does not need me. There are things I have to do."

"Let me help you?" Sora offers immediately, taking one of Riku's hands into his own, holding it there and not letting go, even when the Prince tries to pull away.

"Why so blind?" Riku snaps.

Sora smiles. "You only ever act like this with me."

"What are you saying?" They keep dancing in circles of conversation, answering questions with questions and flouting irrelevancies as if they make currency.

"To everyone else you are quiet and stoic and stunning. You are the Count's companion, always, faithfully, at his elbow." Already the aristocratic boy is leaning in. Riku does not pull away as their mouths brush gently. "To me you are beautiful and vibrant and wholly, undeniably, Riku. With nothing else attached."

The Prince, with his beryl eyes and moonlight hair, makes a soft and confused sound of wonderment before leaning in to sear his mouth to Sora's.

**ﮚ**

Roxas has a ring of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

What?

Muzzy.

His thoughts are.

Roxas has beautiful eyes that dance in the neon lights.

Wait.

Maybe that's Axel.

The lights, that is.

"Sora."

Someone is talking.

"Riku?"

"I told you to—"

"Axel, _bai duo, an jing yidian_." **(note 1)**

"Oh, I see, Roxas, I've pissed you off enough to get you to speak like a good whore of the Alliance? Two can play that _rutting_ game! _Bun tyen-shung duh ee-dway-ro_!" **(note 2)**

"_Ai-yah. Tyen-ah... __Bee-jway, neen hen boo-tee-tyeh duh nan-shung_." **(note 3)**

The room is warm and red, but far more violent than the intoxicating wine color of Riku's sanctuary at the chateau on the Champs Elysee. This is Axel's room, and the Mandarin being thrown back and forth like knives must be people he knows. Sora smoothes his hands, palms down, over the silken sheets, feeling the cool slide against his skin.

"You…" Sora whispers, shakily, his throat dry and sore. "You have a ring of bruises around your neck." He breaks down coughing and his two companions stare at him in surprise.

"Yes," Roxas decides after a moment, frowning. His voice becomes gentle and cajoling and Sora's mentor seems surprised by the affection. "Yes, there is. How do you feel, Sora?"

The brunet tries to laugh and fails, closing his eyes miserably. "Awful."

"Vexen has looked at you," Roxas continues, keeping his cadence steady and calm. Sora really appreciates the effort more than words can possibly express. Things had happened too fast, people had been too inconsiderate of his body. Now he enjoys the man's quiet voice. "He said you'll be all right, but you should rest a few days."

"That… that sounds great."

The room paints itself black with sharp uneven brushstrokes.

**ﮚ**

He is often a guest in the Count's home. Practicing in the courtyard or the training hall with Baptistin, or sometimes on his own, but always with Riku's sharp eyes upon him. He dines with them, discovers that Bertuccio is a well-accomplished chef. He even manages to be sociable with the Marquis Andrea Cavalcanti, another of the Count's wards, despite the man's flamboyant and disagreeable nature. However, Sora prefers to spend quiet hours in the library while Riku reads or listening as Riku practices the harp.

He is somewhat oblivious to what is going on amongst his childhood friends and peers. He knows only of what Beauchamp allows the tabloids to print. Which does not reach the true extent of what is happening. Does not delve into the systematic destruction of well-known figures in the society—who, granted, had it coming to them.

It is during his visits that he comes to realize the true extent of the servants' devotion to their Count. Often, without any sign, they will all pick up on some kind of signal that sends them all hurrying from the room and to His side. Riku is always amongst them and Sora can well understand why he should be called. The Prince's presence can be soothing and bolstering to failing morale.

One afternoon, after Riku has bid him goodbye with a kiss to the cheek, Sora wanders through the hallways—he has come to know them well—and as fate would have it, stumbles into Albert Morcerf.

"Pardon!" the younger viscount gasps, taking in Sora's unaccustomed presence. "Sora? Y… what are you doing here?"

Sora smiles at him placidly, raking an abashed hand back through messy burnt-caramel locks. "I was visiting with Monsieur Riku."

Albert mulls this over in his mind and seems to conclude some sort of confusion. "I… hadn't realized you were in the Count's acquaintance?" His voice is almost jealous, a little shaking, trying to hide beneath a friendly façade. They have known each other since childhood—along with all the rest, Valentine, Eugénie, Franz—the inflection is not difficult for him to affect.

"Quite right," Sora replies smartly, shifting on his feet and glancing up into the courtyard's open air. Several small pleasure crafts hover by at their leisure. "In truth, despite spending quite a bit of time here… I have not yet met the Count. It would be no slight of truth to say I am only a friend of Monsieur Riku."

"I had been under the impression Monsieur Riku was not interested in Paris social life?" Albert inquires, honestly curious now that he is not worrying about competition for the Count's attentions.

"He isn't," Sora shrugs one sinuous shoulder. Albert bears a passing resemblance to himself, blue eyes and russet hair, however, his fellow young aristocratic is accustomed to the leisurely lifestyle and, in the soft lines of his face and body, the lazy way he holds himself comes to the fore. It has been some time since they were young and rivals, but the feeling charges through the air suddenly and Sora cannot say he is completely unawares as to the reason why. "But I wonder, do you suppose it worth my time to meet with the Count?"

Albert startles like an animated pheasant in a holographic shooting range and a grim look pulls at his smiling mouth. "It depends on who you ask. I think he's a great man… Franz, on the other hand, tells me not to trust him."

"I guess I'll have to decide for myself." Sora knows how Riku idolizes the Count. "How is Eugénie?" He asks, thinking to move on to a safer subject. He is, of course, unacquainted as to the current state of affairs between the two betrothed. He does not anticipate mentioning their mutual friend will come across as a blow.

"Set to marry that Italian, Cavalcanti, last I checked." Albert sniffs.

The fencer is surprised. He wonders how he managed to miss such a crucial event. "What? I thought your fathers? Has she consented?"

"Monsieur Danglars has seen, with his banker's eyes, that the Marquis de Cavalcanti will be a much more profitable business partner."

"Albert, I… I'm sorry."

Albert sniffs again. "Don't be." He glances out at the street, though there is only the usual stream of passers by. "I must go." He nods stiffly at Sora and that is all.

Sora lingers behind a moment, contemplating. Perhaps it would behoove him to look into Parisian affairs. He thinks Kairi should be able to help him in that venture.

**ﮚ**

Axel and Roxas look as if they would like to arguing.

Demyx is laughing nervously.

"Uh, guys? The kid is awake."

It's kind of fast and painful.

The way they turn their attention to him.

His mouth is dry and his tongue is awkward.

Demyx is the first to bring him a glass of water.

Axel props him up.

"How do you feel?" Roxas asks softly.

All he can do is drink the water.

When the glass is gone he manages to smile.

Wanly.

"What's up?" he wonders vaguely.

The room spins.

The redhead seems surprised, Demyx confused, and Roxas just returns his smile.

"Luckily, Commander Zack and General Sephiroth are well versed in medical…" the blond trails off, shakes his head in amusement and starts again. "They had potions. It could have been worse. You'll be alright, whatever materia they used on you will wear off soon."

"Okay," Sora nods, settling back against the solid support of Axel's chest. He wonders what the man does to keep up his muscle tone. He's seen him exercising before, but only briefly. His mind is wandering, full of meaningful thoughts slipping through his fingers. "Demyx?"

"Yeah?"

"That thing? You said you would play?"

Demyx beams. "Yeah, sure."

His eyes slip shut again as the man plays the sitar.

He does not fall back asleep, but his thoughts swirl around him.

**ﮚ**

Kairi does not look up from her book when he is announced.

She is dressed wholly in lavender silk, her large bundle of skirts spread around her. Her chair is set near the huge French doors, paned in Western pseudo-glass. Her skin peeks out, beautiful and pale, from within hems edged with delicately chaste lace. Her fingernails are painted the same color as her hair, which is the same color as the cover of her book. The spine glitters with golden lettering, just like her jewelry.

She reads several pages before looking up, pointed face smirking and cobalt eyes hard.

"Why… if it isn't my dearly betrothed."

Sora takes her words for what they really are. "Your parents were quite pleased to see I had, at last, come to pay you a visit." It's a sort of a code, a special dance made only for the two of them. It could certainly be described as intimate, even despite the cold layer of physical separation they usually keep.

"They would be." She marks her page with the blood red tongue between the faded pages. She sets it aside, calls to her attendants for tea, and then smoothes her skirts, keeping her eyes carefully on the fabric. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I spoke with Albert several days ago," Sora confides, glancing up at the servants, waiting for them to go. "We came across each other in the Count of Monte Cristo's courtyard."

Kairi pours the tea and then hands him the china, the pattern of which he knows like the back of his hand. She'd gotten this set from Franz when she turned ten.

"And how does this relate to me?" She looks impatiently to the outdoors. Sora does not need any advanced analytical skills to notice she does not want to stay inside for this conversation. He gets to his feet, leaving behind steaming tea.

"Let's walk while it cools."

She smiles like it's the most romantic thing he has ever said to her.

"Of course."

"I hadn't realized things were going badly between Albert and Eugénie," Sora offers quietly as they move through the stale city air. The temperature is at least pleasant, though the awful smell of the Seine and the Outlands is omnipresent, as always, and will always be.

She holds to his arm, just a little bit tighter. "Things have been going badly for everyone. You have heard about Valentine's family?"

The boy at her side tenses guiltily. "Yes, I saw the scandal. The poisoning attempts… I didn't think Monsieur Villefort would allow me to—" Certainly not after her stepmother tried to kill her for her inheritance.

"I haven't been to see her either," Kairi admits quietly. "She is no longer in the house, much to her father's agitation. Maximilian took her to Marseilles."

Sora gives her a startled glance as they head back to where their tea waits. "For how long?"

"Since a little after Eugénie's concert was announced, which was just after her father broke off her engagement to Albert," she calculates under her breath. They sit back down and raise still scalding tea to their lips, breathing in steam as if that will clear their heads of the misfortune befalling all around them. "Lucien came to visit recently. He's still sleeping with Madame Danglars. I can't believe a man of the Interior Ministry would behave so wantonly." She is clearly disgusted—as is Sora—at the idea of one of their friends sleeping with another's mother. "Well, he told me Monsieur Danglars is no longer funding Monsieur Morcerf's presidential campaign."

Parisian politics have become more embroiled than Sora could ever have expected.

"I never thought," he begins to say, she holds up her hand and gives him a dangerous look.

"Things have gone badly for us all, someone powerful is pulling strings," her face becomes tight and worried. "I don't know what the reason behind it is, but be careful, Sora." She finally hints to what she knows, not about Parisian aristocratic ruin, but about him, and where his heart lies. "Monte Cristo is the nexus, there are too many signs to ignore."

They drink their tea in silence for long comfortable moments, when at last, he sets his saucer aside and kneels at her feet.

"Kairi?"

She gives him a tired grin. "Yes, Sora?"

"I do love you and I'll see you well off some day."

She gives a bark of laughter, burgundy hair and crystalmir eyes flying and sparkling as she tosses her head.

"I should hold you to it, you silly boy."

And he is suitably chagrined.

* * *

**(note 1)** We will enjoy your silence, Axel. 

**(note 2) **Stupid inbred stack of meat.

**(note 3) **Merciless Hell, shut up, you inconsiderate schoolboys.

_(This is the only chapter with these, just as a nod to the Firefly roots)_

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**

* * *


	8. VIII Axel and Roxas

Irvine is smiling down at him and, as he opens his eyes, Sora sees Reno lingering nearby, his body situated purposefully between Axel and Roxas. The two of whom stop glaring at each other behind the man's back in order to look at him.

Reno's mouth twists unpleasantly. "See, Kinneas, I told you this one was stupid, yo."

"How are you feeling,_bao-bay_?" Irvine crows with all his usual enthusiasms, ignoring Reno's jabs, and reaches out to ruffle his fellow brunet's hair. Sora knows it's all a big act, from the both of them, but he especially doesn't like how he can see the stress etched into the cowboy's face.

"A lot better." He's being honest too. His throat doesn't feel like it's been in a desert and a vice and then back again with a slight detour straight through Hell anymore. The room isn't spinning and, once he loosens the salt from his lashes, he can blink away what little sleep grime is left.

Reno slinks closer. He looks dark and a kind of dangerous in his black suit. He's heavily contrasted against the rest of them, who are mostly naked, and Roxas shrouded in baggy white. The smile on Reno's face has ceased to be relieved and, as he sits down on the edge of Axel's bed, he pets Sora's head and says,

"And I personally took care of the Jenova boys, yo."

Sora blinks at him, his head suddenly swallowed whole by confusion. "What?'

"Not that Rufus wouldn't have given it to them anyway, they weren't supposed to be caught," Reno adds thoughtfully, his face morphing into a nasty look, which makes Sora want to take everything pretty and fragile away from the man, forever. "Well, anyway, Rude and I gave them a beating, which they dutifully took." He makes a motion with his hand and goes '_Bzzzap!_'

"Oh," Sora mouths like a dimwit. "How long was I… all of you?"

"Rox and Axel have been here the whole time—fighting like cats and dogs, I might add—a while you slumbered away," Irvine smirks, twisting his muscular torso to sneer at the pretty boys of the Thirteen who have been acting no older than their namesake. "As for Reno and I? We're just in with luck-n-happenstance for you to be awake when we dropped by."

Reno nods and this time his grin has returned to its usual genial-white show of teeth. Though he does waggle his eyebrows and make jabbing motions with his hands again.

Axel seems annoyed, which doesn't surprise Sora at all. "I have an excuse to be here, Roxas doesn't." Axel's growl sets the atmosphere aflame and that's his _specialty technique_: pouring oil onto fire. Roxas glowers and opens his mouth to protest and maybe slug the redhead a good one to the teeth, but he's cut off. "Why don't you go do your fucking job, Roxas?" Axel accuses, loudly. He makes a wild gesture, because he feels like he can do that now without Reno playing the part of human wall.

Sora wants to say something to them, very badly, but when he opens his mouth, he gives a little cough instead and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. It's already been said and Roxas has already heard it. Roxas makes a sound and gives Sora a baleful look, neither of which he can really classify, but both make him feel as if Axel is utter slime for giving voice to those particular thoughts. Before anything more can happen, Roxas leaves with his retreat heralded only by the rustling of his clothing, still as effective as ever in hiding him from the world.

Reno and Irvine are both quiet for once. Somehow they've managed it, though it defies every last modicum of their natures. They keep glancing back-and-forth and their bodies keep shifting towards the door.

Sora remembers this stupid dance of polite-and-selfish from his days in Paris. Those days aren't so far away in his past, but it was a familiar game even then and he'd rapidly grown sick of it.

"I'm still really exhausted," he murmurs. He can see the tension draining from his friends' faces. Reno and Irvine tell him to rest up and then leave with ignominious swiftness.

Axel is just an angry, brooding, blot on the landscape all of sudden; his arms are crossed over his chest and his eyes are downward. Sora doesn't… he doesn't understand these layers of complexity that Axel continues reinventing.

Too many masks.

Sora thinks it should be easy to remove them, those grotesque coverings much like those worn at the Luna Carnival. Except that isn't what they are at all, they're real layers of skin. The pain of constantly grafting must be ungodly and Sora wonders if Axel even knows who he is anymore.

He wants to ask, except he can't.

He gets up, really feels the stiffness in his lower back and his legs. It's an unpleasant thing to think about, a train of thought which leads to blood and vomit. So, he doesn't think about it at all, instead focuses on the gentle carpet beneath his feet and picking out the pathway to the bathroom door.

Axel takes him at the elbow and assists, but says nothing. He draws the bath, helps Sora to settle at the bottom, but then walks several jerking paces away.

"I…" he starts to say, as if opening up. "I told you."

Then he goes back into the bedroom without so much as looking at his apprentice.

**ﮚ**

By Vexen's strict order Sora is kept abed for another three days. From the first moment, Sora finds the mandate very difficult to uphold, difficultly being equivalent to his rising boredom.

And when his friends drop in and smile and say hello… Sora hates that. Because they all know exactly what it is that makes it impossible for Roxas and Axel to be in the same room with each other. They know why Roxas hides behind sheets of clothing and pieces of paper and deep glittering sapphire eyes. They know why Axel burns and burns and burns until all he has got left are raw skin and blisters.

In his invalid state he's begun to _stew _on them, but doesn't voice any of his thoughts. They aren't appropriate; they're invasive and would most certainly set everyone on edge. It would be crude and imprudent to announce their façade, that they seem to have perfected, is not as effective once one gets close enough.

Sora doesn't want them to panic and push him away. Not now, not after he's gotten so close. To them _and_ to Riku.

There's a small relief during the night, when most of them have to go off to work. It's less of a relief when Axel comes back to their room at moonfall: reeking of sex and cigarettes and disgust and anger.

When Sora is finally allowed out of bed, Vexen still tells him not to do anything strenuous. Which makes Sora balk and want to scream that he isn't sick, just raped. But it's all right; he manages to keep his calm even though he's frustrated.

When he was young, just barely beginning to suffer under the tyranny of roiling hormones, he had, on occasion, deemed to buy one of the magazines The Castle would put out. The 'zines were a nod to those too poor to afford the pleasures of their flesh, a magnanimous empire building exercise. However, Sora had never been of the opinion that he might have been homosexual. He mostly bought the magazines to see the pictures of rising female ingénues from the Second floor.

The newsboy, Hayner, had sometimes offered to sell him some of the live videos of the Thirteen, for a reduced price, but… Sora had turned red about the ears and gently declined.

It's at the end of each month that these items are produced. The whores are roused from their lazy catnaps during the day and set to do a good, honest, day's work.

The room where the films and photos are taken is a huge set covered in canopied beds, strewn with silk flowers, or tailored carefully to some other scene of the erotic imagination. Vexen sits atop a metal lab table to the very farthest right, his obscenely exposing lab coat hanging open and leaving nothing of his meticulously chiseled alabaster physique to the imagination.

Sora is given a posh chair to sit and watch in from several paces behind the wall of cameramen and photographers. He thinks this is the most disgusting thing he has ever seen. It's pure unadulterated—concentrated, even—masturbation. Fantasies of rape and degradation hidden within the safe confines of a holodisc. What's more, he's really not looking forward to seeing his new friends subjected to the perverted wills of the filthy unwashed masses.

So, needless to say, watching the session is strange. He's met enough of these people, spoken to them, seen the intelligence flash in Zexion's eyes and the quiet inner strength of Demyx. But in this room, in front of these cameras, they're nothing more than sex objects. Porn stars, whores, expensive 'escorts', Sora has to remind himself that this is their claim to fame.

He suspects they're all either actors of the highest caliber or they're schizophrenics, their alternate personalities triggered by the presence of the lens. Sora honestly feels both options are equally viable.

The first person Roxas is paired up with, lying upon a huge four-poster bed with a black lacquered headboard and glossy sapphire sheets, is Number I himself. It seems to be some stock character scene about a sophisticated older man initiating a young boy; blushing and uncertain, but enthusiastically willing.

The compliment between their skin and the sheets is nearly artful, if one looks past the lewd shift and flex of thigh muscles, which, in and of itself, is almost graceful. Xemnas seems to be honestly enjoying his quiet little moment of carnal display. His slick smile looks almost honest and Roxas's moans might just be heartfelt. Their kisses might just have something behind them.

Sora looks around to the others and none of them appear to be quite as enthralled with their partners. Axel is flat on his back spread over a round, antiquated, barroom table, Luxord moving atop him.

Demyx is whimpering and pretending to cry while clawing at Vexen's metal table. His saliva pools and his breath condenses on its cold surface.

Marluxia and Xigbar, two people he has not even met yet, are engaged in a mock power play, Marluxia strapped up in a leather monoglove and a gag. Marluxia seems to genuinely resent the bondage and Xigbar seems to honestly enjoy making him angry, but, between them, it isn't as sexual as they intimate it to be.

The whole situation becomes more… troubling when the cameramen call for a stop and everyone ceases immediately. They are without any sort of preamble or reluctance. They just stop. One of the photographers calls for Larxene and dresses her like a dominatrix and poses her with five younger girls from the Second floor at her feet.

The other twelve are simply ordered to switch partners. Marluxia going to Zexion, where they'll enact a tense secondary school scene; Lexaeus to Xemnas, for their own rendition of a forbidden office love; and Roxas to Axel.

The director simply raves about the pairing, extolling how wonderful they look together, how their personalities mesh so well and… Sora somehow doesn't laugh. He gives Roxas an encouraging smile when the blond glances at him. Because Sora feels just a little bad for him, how no one really tries to understand, just wants to see him spread open and fucked. He wonders if Roxas and the others get frustrated with the misinterpretations of their personalities.

The one thing Sora will lend to this is that the Thirteen are exactly as perfect as they look. Other stars in this 'business' hide behind quick computer fixes or makeup. Not the Thirteen, their resilience against time's ministrations is their pride—most assuredly Vexen's: who's to stop him from injecting who-knows-what into his patients?—it's why they're the best. The general wanking populous don't realize the truth, because that stupid adage is right: the truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

Sora half expects Roxas and Axel to snarl at each other like dogs, but they don't. They just get to the business at hand. The redhead pulls his tiny partner in close, tracing the lines of his body with long fingers, kissing his mouth and acting like he genuinely gives a damn.

Throughout the entire shoot, Sora has been just a little obsessed with his first glimpse of the full expansion of Roxas, finally unimpeded by baggy clothing and guarded looks. He's even seen Roxas's brand, situated right between the bird bones of his shoulder blades, sharp and stark: the letters XIII.

As he continues to watch, he realizes they must edit out the numbers in the final product, else he might have recalled something so glaringly obvious from the magazines; else he wouldn't have been so surprised to see the markings in person.

Axel and Roxas have made it to a bed; this one looks like it might be found in a commoner's bedroom, cotton spread and hollow tubing headboard.

They have very smooth limbs, which give an inaccurate reading on their ages. They were perhaps eighteen when the Castle began; Sora Favreau had been just on the cusp of his teenage years at the time, and wholly uninterested in sex and pornography. He'd only glanced up at the gossip reports on the news because he'd heard things about a castle and a scandal.

Axel and Roxas must be in their early thirties now, if his estimations based on his own twenty-two years are any good. They look unchanged. Admittedly, the life expectancy of the common man has surpassed a hundred, doubled for the rich and tripled for extraterrestrials. Two out of three are represented just within the ranks of the Thirteen.

Axel and Roxas are really starting to… well, Sora supposes it could be called a rut. All of this could be called mindless, debasing, rutting. But, something about the way Roxas… looks, makes him think twice.

Look twice, at Roxas… who has _focus_ carefully showing in blue eyes, which have somehow managed to remain open under the strain of deception and sex. Roxas's body continues on automatically, Sora is certain his thoughts rarely stray to his work at times like this. But those quiet, glimmering, eyes have finally resolved to reveal the secret they've kept carefully buried under a mound of treasure. For one instant, his entire heart is revealed; laid completely bare. Sora knows then, whatever it is that Roxas holds in his gaze he loves dearly. And that is Axel.

In tiny, _scant_, seconds, the look fades away and Roxas throws back his head with a moan. Sora is… he looks around to see if anyone else understands what has just happened, what has _been_ happening. No one is looking, not even the cameraman, the truth veiled behind a glass lens.

For a moment, Sora is sure he's imagined it, but as if Roxas _wants _him to know, he threads his adroit fingers into the hair at the nape of Axel's neck and kisses him with quiescent tenderness.

Sora thinks back to less than a few moments ago, when Roxas had been flush beneath Xemnas, the look on his face then. He compares and contrasts and analyzes and fights with emotions to keep his mind reasonable. He can come to one conclusions and one conclusion only.

That they, Axel and Roxas, could be quite unbelievably right for each other, but they never will. Never could. And Sora wishes he had never seen the love flickering in Roxas's eyes.

**ﮚ**

The filming continues on for several days afterwards, though, later in the process it's more acting and costumes and dialogue, what with the sex out of the way. The sex: the part that everyone is so excited about and every day Sora begins to hate the Castle and what it's doing to these people. He thinks of as friends now. Sora almost wonders why they don't just fake the sex-vids, but then a jaded little section of his brain pipes up that 'they're the _best_, they don't fake anything'. Except for everything that they do, but who cares about people?

Axel's appointment with Rufus comes and goes. Sora only knows because the man comes home especially angry that night, exercising for nearly three hours until all he can do is fall into his bed and sleep. He has not taken Sora out with him since the fiasco on the _Diamond_. Sora worries that Axel might not help him anymore, he tries to bring it up, delicately.

It's sad and painful that Sora thinks about Roxas every time Axel refuses to meet his eyes and refuses to answer his questions.

He thinks about how he can almost comprehend why the blond keeps his feelings hidden. It's because Axel is really, ungodly proficient at making himself so infuriatingly unapproachable with his quick tongue and friendly smile.

It seems like forever before Axel finally deems to speak to him again.

"All right, Sora, we have to go to the interviews today." He seems to find this activity deplorable and Sora inquires into just what these interviews detail. "They're bullshit that we make up to cement who they think we are," he smirks and spreads his hands with innocent supplication. "Sometimes we make up drama between each other. This time Xemnas is purportedly getting tired of his old squeeze, Saïx, and is leaving him for Roxas."

Sora gets a tight little feeling in his chest. Just between his heart and his collarbone. "And how much of it is pretend?"

Axel… Axel jumps in surprise. Like Sora shouldn't have been that observant. As if it was much more difficult than it really was to piece together that Saïx resents Roxas for something he doesn't have, but feels he should. As if that scene in the hallway hadn't made that clear. And if that fits, then why shouldn't they use it? It sounds like the sort of subtly manipulative thing that this house full of whores would implement.

But Sora knows how Roxas really feels, whom he feels for. It isn't Xemnas. Though, drawing upon his observations of Xemnas, the man might have some feeling for Roxas.

Axel shifts on his feet and shrugs. "I don't write the script, I just follow it."

Sora knows this is the wrong thing to say, but he says it anyway. "You're lying. You would never be satisfied with that."

"And you know me so well?" He knows they were the wrong words and Axel's flare of anger and indignation only confirms the assessment. He does know Axel, because Axel has let him, perhaps, unwittingly.

"You don't want me to?" It's quiet, it's guileless, and it's honest. It makes Axel stop in his tirade. Makes his shoulders sag and his face crumble. Sora isn't sure if this is the real Axel or not, but it doesn't matter. He's made his point and maybe Axel will trust him and open up and maybe Sora can help them. All of them.

"Come on," Axel whispers, reconstructing his features swiftly. "We can't be late, we're introducing you this month's, so there will be questions for you too."

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**


	9. IX The Little Show of Courtellia

_And we're live in… three… two… one… go!_

Today his name is Axel and he grew up on the California Space colony. Today he's twenty-three years old and embroiled in a playful affair with Demyx.

Today Demyx has grown up in a small, stifling sector of the Illinois colony and he's twenty-four.

Today they wear clothes, Demyx bedecked in glitter, harsh day-glo colors and florescent jewelry.

Axel is in boots, pants, and a green t-shirt with a SHINRA logo printed across it. He'll never acknowledge that it is a shameless plug for a man he despises.

Sora is dressed in a likewise casual fashion and he isn't quite sure what his story for the day is. All he knows is that it can't possibly be the truth.

There's a woman with stiffly formed hair, far too much makeup, garish nails, and a starched white dress suit.

Her name is Courtellia Shifelle and she's at least a million years old, by Sora's estimations. He remembers his mother listening to her inane prattling, even when he was a child. (Advice on everything from family, which Sora's mother promptly disregarded, to managing the household, which his mother promptly passed on to the servants.) She is the queen of all things relating to women and the bane of most men's existence.

She's on every single day, reruns and live shows. Her face flickering on at least seven different holo-vision channels, sometimes running simultaneously.

The show's set is comprised of a benign cream colors, low bowl shaped chairs, a fake view out onto the _Loire_. Sora vaguely recognizes it because of a snatch of the distinctive Bloir Bridge, however, other than that the image is wholly inaccurate to the current state of the trickling, polluted, stream that was once the proud and mighty _Loire_ a million years ago. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes as he reaches forward to take a cup of coffee from the low, plastic, coffee table.

"When the Castle first came to Xining, there was controversy, there was talk and investigations and protests. But that served only to draw our eyes to them, which is exactly what they wanted! Since those tumultuous days, all those years ago, I have had the pleasure of hosting the Thirteen of the Castle many times. Revered returning guests… today we have everyone's favorite Rock Star and… what's a Rock Star without a boy toy?"

Sora feels the slime of lies go dancing down his back. The smile on Axel's face is worse than the one he reserves for Rufus. This one really seems to physically pain him, the corner of his mouth ticking perceptibly.

Courtellia offers the three of them a similar smile, perfect teeth glinting wretchedly from within the confines of dark lips. Her cheeks are drawn too high from one too many cosmetic surgeries and she manages to blink only with great effort, her fake eyelashes quivering dangerously as if their glue will come undone any second.

Her gaze rests on Sora and he quickly gulps down more coffee, unseemly as it is, to avoid having to speak with her.

"And you really must tell me, boys, who is your new friend?"

There must have been some kind of cue, as the crowd breaks out excitedly, begging to hear who he is.

Demyx grins like he's far more flattered than he truly is and waves to them, blowing kisses and generally not answering her question for as long as possible. Maybe it's payback for all those weeks ago when Axel pushed him into answering an uncomfortable inquiry.

"Well, Courtellia," the redhead begins, the cant of his voice entirely different from his usual purring confidence. The words come slithering from the back of his throat and high up in his nose, whining and simpering, all the things that Axel really isn't. Sora gags and hides it behind his hand, pretending that he's blushing.

Half-way through the motion he realizes how much the Castle and it's false-faces are rubbing off on him, how he's picked up their disgustingly subtle methods of pretending they're perfectly fine with fooling people, perfectly fine with denying who they are day-to-day.

"The story really is far too amusing, you see, mmm, Dem, you remember, we were just strolling about in-cog-ni-to." There is a lot of exaggerated motions and winking and blowing of kisses and when Axel gets to the simple word of 'incognito' he turns on just enough sexual energy to make the crowd squeal. "Mmm." He hums, again, a warm, low vibration from his throat, something to fill space and drag this farce out even longer. "I think I was wearing that green chiffon number with the animal fur and the Tsubo boots, you know the one, Dem-Dem."

Demyx smiles again and his face turns a bright color, conveying his utter distaste for the nickname. Sora can tell just from the way Axel is sitting that he would rather be committing suicide than doing this and… Sora isn't sure he can take this for an entire hour. He doesn't think he can take this for another second. His desire to help these poor people grows stronger and stronger with every word, until he just wants to snatch them up and fucking run for it. He's halfway through steadying his muscles for the sprint before he calms down and remembers the nanos Reno had put into him with the brand.

"Well, we came across this pretty little thing being ruffed up by some of these nasty drunkards. You know the way those inner-city chinks are, Courtellia." Axel preens on the arrogant way he can get away with the slur. What's more, the hostess nods sympathetically and the crowd coos and all Sora can think of is the futile way the Paris aristocrats had tried to make that same insult sound more refined. '_Chinetoque_' they'd said, with their usual French aplomb, but what they'd really needed was not refinement, what they'd needed was simply to acknowledge their filthy arrogance. Sora blanches quietly to himself.

"Obviously we saved him," Axel sort of giggles, breathy and weak, as if anything other than being a sex icon is far too much work for him. "Poor thing needed tending, so Dem-Dem and I took him home and we just grew too fond him! Now he's sort of like my baby, teaching him the ropes, and all of that." He winks and that's the end of it, Sora's chest feels tight, so does his throat, and he hopes he won't be expected to speak.

Courtellia drums her long nails on her stockinged thigh and then grins at the brunet sitting as far away from her as he can possibly manage.

"So, come on, we're all dying to know, honey! Tell us your name, sweetheart."

This is the moment Sora has been dreading. He doesn't want to let these people; these slavering drooling—_monsters—_have his name.

He sweats and then the words just drool off of his tongue. He smiles and spills it with a cool collectiveness, an air he manages to summon out of thin oblivion.

"Donatien."

More cued crowd reactions and Courtellia plays with her dark dyed curls and bites at her lower lip, shooting a knowing look out at her audience.

"Donatien," she laughs, rolling the archaic name over her tongue like a particularly pompous wine critic. "Tell us about yourself, how old are you?"

Her voice says she _wants_ him to lie, so he does.

Today his name is Donatien and he grew up outside of Xining, but his parents died when he was very young, so he doesn't know his family name. He's eighteen years old and just oh so very grateful to Axel for taking him in.

Truly and honestly, he isn't surprised at how easily it comes to him. He has been conditioned for this since birth, the pandering and the lying. But, when he'd met Riku, he'd naïvely hoped he could leave that all behind.

Demyx offers him a pitying smile.

Somehow, the conversation gets away from Sora, their eyes move back to the familiar faces of Demyx and Axel. Asking pointedly lewd questions about their relationship, how far they've gone, what they like about each other. It gets noticeably, treacherously, worse when Courtellia moves on to talk about the others. It's one thing, Sora feels, for her to pry and debase them to their faces, but when she begins to talk about Roxas and the soap opera like love triangle that some would assume to be completely contrived and others would only believe just for the entertainment and… he knows it's real.

"So, have you any opinion on who your Superior should be with?" she asks, chewing on the end of a pen like a particularly vile news reporter, one from some Podunk place, like Wyoming Space; one with nothing better to report on than people's personal affairs.

Demyx answers the question too quickly, makes the woman and the audience too curious about what he's covering up and it's a big black mark on his name in Sora's opinion. Now the wolves will turn on them.

"It's between them," the rock star says, like he can't help it. And it's the wrong answer because it's the true one, the reasonable one.

Courtellia is not satisfied. She looks to Axel, who is tightly wound, his shoulders shoved back and his knees crossed stiffly. Her dark eyes slide to Sora, who has no idea how he looks, but he hasn't been able to stop thinking about Roxas since that day. He hasn't been able to stop imagining his mentor and that beautiful, lonely, blond _boy_—Roxas is so helpless in this quandary as to be positively adolescent—happy and together. Sora feels the bile rising into the back of his throat at the idea of answering the way she wants him to.

She wants to hear that they think Xemnas should take Roxas into his company. She wants to hear all about the drama it will cause, the hurt feelings, but also the new emotions and the enjoyment of a budding new relationship.

Axel swallows and answers, gives her what she wants in order to spare Sora the trouble. The brunet has never really been more grateful for a reprieve in his entire life. He feels almost like a coward, but he isn't going to dwell on that.

"Saïx really has feelings for him, but maybe this will be good for Xemnas. Roxas is a great guy, can't fault Xemnas there… Only time will tell, we'll have to watch and see." The redhead manages to wink, but only once.

**ﮚ**

Afterwards, they're forced to stay in the studio, amongst the bustling, abused, interns and shouting producers. With bad food that's far too warm and drinks full of saccharine. Sora decides within moments that he's had enough. He puts on his best whining aristocrat face and does just that: whines.

"I don't feel well."

Demyx and Axel's eyes light up, gleaming like stage lights. They both try not to smile and hurriedly begin babbling about Sora's slow recovery from his trauma, his aversion to this and that, allergies, arthritis, chemical imbalances, so sorry, etc, let's get the hell out of here.

They all but run and the blond actually kisses him when they burst out into the open Beijing air. They continue to move until they've thoroughly immersed themselves into the busy streets of the Chinese capital.

They aren't inconspicuous at all, people keep looking at them, but they're in Beijing, the Eastern equivalent of Hollywood, so it isn't as bad as it could have been. It's better when they pay off a nice proprietor to get a quiet back room in a restaurant.

"You did really well," Axel tells him after several moments of reclining in the privacy and the silence of the room. It remains silent for a long time after he leaves his compliment, uncomfortably silent and both men look to the apprentice. Sora looks brooding, not at all as pleased as he should have been from their liberation.

"What is it?" Demyx wonders, toeing off the uncomfortable traditional slippers he'd been forced to wear.

"It bothers me how everyone talks about Roxas."

Demyx draws in his breath noisily, whereas Axel releases it with a hiss. Sora knows it's the wrong thing to say, but he doesn't care. Roxas is just as much a friend as they are. He… he meets Axel's eyes and wants to just say it. Wants to tell the bastard that Roxas is so completely in love with him that when Axel isn't watching Roxas can't look away from him.

"Especially how Xemnas is obviously using him to stir up trouble with Saïx."

The musician gives a shaking laugh. "Don't be so smart kid; it'll only get you in trouble… I mean… trust me."

Sora eyes him cynically, his disbelief hot and ragged on the air and all that does is piss Axel off even more.

"Why don't you ever listen?" The redhead finally—it's been building for so long—explodes. "_Aiya_! Sora! We _know_ them. We've been stuck with these bastards for years! We know how they work! And when we tell you bad shit will go down if you fuck with them, we _rutting_ mean it! What do I have to do to get it through your goddamn head? Because, if I have to send you back down to the _rutting_ Floor with Kinneas to keep you safe, I will!"

He might as well be on fire; flames might as well be bursting from his fingertips, igniting from the tinder in his eyes. Luckily, Axel has a little more control over his magic than that.

Sora has become epically bad at giving the right answers. "Tell me about them."

Wrong answer, not what's expected. Too smart, too logical. Not enough _lies_, not when these people subsist on lies and false smiles and forced leers.

"What?" Axel snarls. He clenches his jaw until they can both hear it popping, can see the tegument pulling extraordinarily taut in his face.

"Help me understand," Sora whispers and knows that this has nothing to do with him. Understands that the friendly part of him—the part of him that Paris tried to kill because Paris should never have anything that pure and kind—has won out and that this is all about Roxas and helping them.

Axel's eyes get dark, dimming to the frightening color of the sky before a storm. He looks ready to snap again, or possibly to smile and ward it off with a wall of flash-fire words.

But then Demyx speaks up.

"Yeah, okay," the musician mumbles. "Sure. I know enough."

**ﮚ**

_ In the summer the smell is absolutely unbearable. Refuse, human waste, and corpses, floating on the air, spectral reminders that we're living in Hell. In the winter the cold is completely excruciating. There's no shelter and violent blizzards rage around us, making it impossible to see, impossible to find food or tinder. And before you think it, there is no autumn in the Junkyard, only the cold, volatile time between winter and summer. Lightning streaks through the sky constantly and acid rain falls at least once a week. As for spring, the raining season? Acid burns are the most common cause of death during the raining season._

_ So, the Junkyard has a mind of its own, sentience achieved by radioactive chemicals and one too many dead bodies left to be assimilated into its soil. The alleyways of garbage, stacked to the sky, move and shift constantly. Sometimes there is a shortcut to the camp and other times… you get lost and never come back. _

_ Tribes form and reform by this principal. They fight over the fluctuating borders, as if they matter. Which, they don't, or possibly it's just because the fighting makes them feel safe. Lets them have an area that is their own, that is protected by their own blood. In the Junkyard, the word Tribe is thicker than blood could ever hope to be._

_ This is a place where your genes don't mean shit because you didn't know your parents, they didn't know each other, and they definitely don't know you. They've most likely been dead for years anyway. Devoured by the Junkyard, killed in a territory war or they just left you because good-caring-people don't come to this hellhole._

_ The Junkyard. The workers—who drop the garbage from the sky and sometimes bring little survival kits—call it the Outreaches, but they'd probably call it the Junkyard if they had to live here too. To live, to survive, here, the size or the strength of your Tribe doesn't really matter. What matters is how fast you are, how good you are at not pissing anyone off, not being seen, not being noticed, and, above all, knowing where to forage for supplies. _

_ Some people in the galaxy are aware that innocents, kids, orphaned by criminal parents, are living out here. They put supplies—water, food, blankets— into refrigerators and send them out to be dumped. _

_ The faster you get there and the faster you can get away, the better you can hide yourself and your loot… the more likely you and your Tribe are to survive._

_ The four of us didn't always know each other, but we synchronize easily, out of need, necessity._

_ Marluxia leads us because he's the oldest, though he always takes the advice he's given into consideration and that's a rare trait in a Junkyard Tribe leader. A strange trait for him because he's arrogant and haughty, but he wants to survive just like we do._

_ Perhaps that is part of why we, the Oblivion, survive as long as we do. Marluxia always knows, somehow, where the best supply drops will be. Always makes sure we're there hours in advance, hidden and waiting to pounce before anyone else has the chance to steal it out from under our noses. Maybe he has a special connection with what passes for "the land" out here._

_ That could be why we always have shelter during the raining seasons and during the winter. While other Tribes, better-organized, larger Tribes, sit huddled wherever they are, waiting and praying the storms will pass without a lightning strike causing fire. Praying they won't freeze to death before the morning. Praying they won't all be smoking acid-ridden husks in a few hours._

_ Maybe our strength is why we catch the Nobodies's eyes. _

_ Just because the Oblivion avoid fights doesn't mean we can't kick some serious ass. And when Xemnas and his five-man crew pull up to us… we're ready to defend ourselves to the last._

_ We each have our spells: fire, water, lightning, earth. We each have our weapons: knives, clubs and scythes fashioned from car parts; even a couple of guns. _

_ But Xemnas—he is beautiful even then, even when his face is smeared with dirt and his hair is lank, his golden eyes sparkling with knowledge and intelligence and cunning. He holds out his hand and invites us to join together, make a new being from the pieces of the Nobodies and the Oblivion. _

_ He promises us that he has a plan and, judging by how well fed they look; how their clothes aren't in complete tatters… we trust them. Marluxia takes his hand, Larxene and Axel move in closer and we follow them back to their base._

_ We have no idea what we're getting ourselves into._

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers.  
**


	10. X The Junkyard

_Our symbol is a ring of knives, ten points each. _

_The Nobodies and the Oblivion. _

_ Our prime motive is territory, taking it and inspiring fear and respect in everyone else. Putting challengers in their proper places; ruling._

_ Before, the Nobodies had lacked only one thing and that was the lithe agility inherit in the younger generations of the Junkyard populace. That's obviously where we play our part. _

_ But even without us, the Nobodies are dangerous. They've got raw power, intelligence, experience and their absolute ruthlessness. Their cruelty rubs off quickly on Marluxia and Larxene. The metamorphosis is instantaneous and terrifying. Though fear is the last thing we're expected to show. We're expected to be full of pomp and arrogance as we conquer sector after sector, kill leader after leader._

_ Though, sometimes, in the humid, suffocating, heat of the acid storms, I still cling to Axel like a kid, because I remember all the nights where our shelter was the shell of an abandoned vehicle and the acid was eating through. I still see clearly in my mind's eye all the nights the bats dove in through the shattered windshield and clawed at us, frantic for fresh blood._

_ Sometimes we have food, sometimes we don't. Sometimes it isn't a priority to make it to the drops. Sometimes Xemnas just wants us to toughen up. Other times I am too nauseous from the smell of blood and the sight of some poor kid's guts spilling out from the safe confines of his body. _

_ The Nobodies are cruel, even then. I think they always will be... Xigbar's grating laughter, Xaldin's heady animal presence, the cold sadism radiating from Vexen's eyes, Lexaeus's quiet way of looming up out of the shadows, and Zexion's sharp disdain for the weaklings bleeding to death at his feet, dirtying his boots._

_ That disdain is directed at me sometimes, because I don't just drop the old ways of avoiding fights in favor of other venues. Zexion hates that about me and shows it in his face whenever he sees me._

_Now, as time passes, Marluxia becomes more and more discontent with being a follower. More and more frustrated by the slow pace of Xemnas's preparations to liberate us from the Junkyard. Marluxia gets possessive quickly and dredges up the word "Tribe", as if we'd forgotten, and suddenly we're the dissidents amongst the Nobodies. It's a pretty dangerous way to be, bordering on betrayal and heresy, but it keeps me safe from the scorn others would heap on me._

_ You know, Xemnas will always be disturbingly brilliant, and he isn't oblivious to the way Marluxia and Larxene whisper back and forth without discretion, or to the way I nervously ask Axel what they're thinking, what they're doing, they're going to get us killed—because the Nobodies can definitely kill us. We'd put up a fight, but in the end it'd be our corpses roasting under the sun, becoming food to the bats, disintegrating in the acid rain._

_ The Superior probably even sees that cheap little smirk Axel gives, probably isn't fooled by it, but probably doesn't know that Axel plays everyone equally, himself notwithstanding._

_ It's probably because of Axel that we aren't killed. Though, maybe we should have been. Maybe it would have spared us._

**ﮚ**

Axel's body is so stiff.

He isn't looking.

At anyone.

Demyx is sort of shaking

And laughing.

Like he can't believe it's them.

It's theirs.

And Sora listens.

**ﮚ**

_Luxord. We all know his name long before we ever have the pleasure of meeting him. He's the richest man in the whole of the Junkyard. He has an elaborate stronghold of filched stock situated out on the very edges of Junkyard civilization, snuggled up against the black of the Cold Zones. _

_ He's a businessman in every sense, intimately acquainted with the laws of supply and demand. He understands exactly how much someone is willing to pay for a fresh piece of fruit in a place like this. He is truly one of the central nodes to our bartering community. He holds a monopoly over the trading sector. While others dig bullet shells out of rotting corpses, he reclines in a ripped leather desk chair eating succulent Satsuma oranges. _

_ Some of his influence comes from his rumored connections to the monsters that live out on the Zone. People out in the galaxy tell stories about the Junkyard to make their little ones behave. In the Junkyard, you tell stories about the Zone. _

_ No sunlight, no shelter, no food, no water. Just beasts and disease and scrap-metal and no way out. Survival is the only goal in a place like that. And survival means slaughter and cannibalism and bestiality and necrophilia and insanity and blood. Everywhere; permeating. The few who have somehow managed to extricate themselves from that dark place never find their niche within the 'society' of the Junkyard. The stench of the night always hangs heavy off them and, if they aren't lynched, they're shunned and run out of the camp._

_ Mostly? People go to Luxord because it's rumored he has some kind of pipeline to the rest of the universe. We realize, Marluxia most reluctantly of all, that if anyone can get us out of here, it's him._

_ And Xemnas takes us all to meet Luxord. To prove to Marluxia that his plan is progressing, that if he combines his resources with Luxord's we can be out of this hell within a few more years. We'll live in comfort and true finery, not just the sad mockery Luxord has achieved, which is just the best you can expect to do out on this end of Space. _

_ Luxord's mansion really looks as if the walls are made of garbage, almost like a rat's nest. Piled up junk with a slanting doorway, messily wired electricity—but no one has electricity, so we're all momentarily struck dumb and blind by the sight anyway. _

_ The man even has a few pilfered scraps of gold in his office, set up on tables like trophies, right alongside the semi-automatics and the grenades and the blankets. Luxord knows his customers._

_ As a token of goodwill, the first thing he does is give us new clothes; warm clothes, without holes, and sturdy leather boots and long black coats treated with some kind of stiff gloss, he says it'll finally keep the rain off us. _

_ Luxord is polite to the last; always will be. I've seen him say please and thank you while charging a starving family everything they owned, even the clothes on their backs, just for a couple molding sandwiches and a bar of soap. _

_ There are times when I consider feeling guilty for all the times that we survive while the few helpless families, brought up by the younger generation–the foolish ones who try to deny the Nature of the Junkyard–starve._

_That's what unconditional loyalty gets you. _

_Love comes in individually wrapped commodity packages and that's all. _

_ So, Luxord shakes all our hands, asks our names personally, even though Xemnas has already introduced us. The man smiles, says something pleasant and cajolingly gracious and moves along. He tries leaving one with the feeling that maybe he'll actually remember that name a few hours from now._

_ He says he has more to show us, to convince us and, hopefully, win our loyalty and our friendship._

_ Axel laughs._

_ Luxord smirks and says that his coup de grace is currently out at the moment. For some reason, I think he's lying, I think he says it to give us time to think and to pique our interest._

_ It works._

_ Luxord knows his customers._

**ﮚ**

_ They're called the Sun, the Moon, and the Star._

_Luxord brings Saïx to meet us many weeks later, establishing him as a business partner, of sorts. Saïx is his right hand and his second in command. Luxord says, in that deep cultured voice of his, that Saïx is the moon of their triumvirate and he, himself, is the sun._

_ We will have to wait yet to meet the star._

**ﮚ**

_ The first time I see Roxas I think he looks like a rabid animal. He is a wild-eyed creature of skin and bones, one that Luxord keeps on a dangerously short leash at his side. _

_ And the first time I see Roxas kill, the boy is only demonstrating. He decimates a group of ten poor, innocent bastards who were rounded up for the occasion. _

_ I grip Axel's hand like I'm going to break every bone in it and I'm surprised that he lets me. I think I'm going to vomit, but when Roxas turns towards us, his face and hands—He's killed them with his bare hands—are covered in blood. His eyes are what make me pause. He looks wounded. He looks all around, at everyone watching him, just looking for someone to help him. He's asking the wrong people._

_ Xemnas is smiling. _

_ Xigbar is laughing and clapping and… _

_ Luxord holds out his hand._

_ The boy comes to him, silent, swift, deadly and desperate. His tiny hand fits well in Luxord's palm, and the man draws him in. He hugs him as if he is long lost son._

_ Then he fastens the leash back around his neck._

_ He leads us all back inside his stronghold and pours us some... some _rutting_ coffee. No one has coffee. No one has china dishes. Yeah? Well Luxord is a special kind of Nobody._

_ He sits back in his throne-like leather desk chair—I have the irrational idea that Xemnas probably covets that chair with the better part of his being—and crosses his legs at the knee. He pulls on Roxas's leash until the boy is sitting on the floor at his side. He pets the kid's hair like he really is a dog._

_ "Roxas is very special," he says. I'm barely listening, I'm staring too closely at him and I think Axel is too. Axel must be, because he's always more intense than I am. That's why Luxord notices. He unhooks Roxas and whispers something in his ear. The boy makes a strange, twisted, face, but hefts himself gracefully to his feet and walks toward us. _

_ "He survived in the Zone all alone for many years. Until Saïx found him and brought him to me." Many years later, Roxas tells me how Luxord conveniently excluded the part of the story where he and Saïx nearly killed each other that night. _

_ Roxas stands in front of Axel and me. He twists and turns, like a slave on the block, as if being examined by an invisible auctioneer. He has obviously practiced this demonstration routine before._

_ "He is extraordinarily resilient and I believe he will be key to our plans…" Luxord is saying, but I don't want to hear it._

_ He's only sixteen years old; so malnourished that he only weighs ninety pounds. He's barely five and half feet tall and he can kill a man, many men, with just his hands. He's even deadlier with a weapon and he wields Florentine._

_ "Isn't he beautiful?"_

**ﮚ**

_It's Xemnas's idea that Roxas should come back with us to the Junkyard, so that he can learn how to work with us, but it's Axel and I who are to take care of him. We're the best qualified, only in that we're the youngest and I'm most likely the only one with the patience for the boy's snarling and cringing and blinking helplessly under the pallid face of the sun._

_"Is there really no sunlight in the Zone?"_

_Roxas stares at me mutely and then glances self-consciously at Axel._

_Axel is perched atop a hill of garbage, swinging his legs absentmindedly in empty space and staring off across the waste as if there's something there to see._

_Roxas shivers and then shakes his head once._

_He looks more ragged than the rest of us. It doesn't seem fair to me that he should be treated lesser, but I don't think I can possibly raise any protest. It would just make trouble, something I put a lot of effort into avoiding. _

_I'm reluctant to do so, but I offer him my coat._

_He takes it anxiously, like a starving kid being offered a sandwich. He looks pretty ridiculous from within its many long folds, but he's stopped shivering and stopped scratching at his skin as if the sun is burning him._

_ I wonder, not for the last time, if it was living in the Zone that left him perpetually cold. _

_ "Come on, we're supposed to be patrolling. Axel! Come on." It's meant to be diffusing for the kid, who is so much like a cornered animal that it's scary and I pity him like no tomorrow._

_ Axel springs down from his perch and we begin to walk, but Roxas doesn't follow. I'm willing to cajole him, but Axel stops, raises a mocking eyebrow at him and… _

_ "You coming, kid?"_

_ I'm fairly certain that is the exact moment that I leave the picture._

_ Roxas's pretty, young, grimy face twists into a frown. _

_ "I'm coming!" he returns sharply._

**ﮚ**

_ And then... It's kind of cute to watch them wrestling._

**ﮚ**

Axel looks up sharply and Demyx stops talking, grinning like he's innocent.

"You were friends," Sora says, trying to smooth it out somehow, so he can get the rest of the story.

The redhead scowls, shakes his head a little and there's just something about this particular story, maybe it's the fact that it's about Axel and Roxas and how Demyx seems to care about them both in some kind of familial way that Sora could almost say is love. Sora isn't going to say all that though; it's too much to add to this situation. To call the musician on something he's probably already dealing with in the only way he can, just like Roxas is, would be unfair.

"They were friends," Demyx laughs.

**ﮚ**

_It's kind of cute to watch them wrestle. Axel incites the kid on purpose and snatches the bit of bread from his hands and holds it up. He uses all of his considerable height, toting it even over his own head, and Roxas stares up at it like it's sitting on a golden pedestal. He's too short to even reach it by jumping, so all he can do is go for Axel's legs. It never takes them long to forget all about the food. They're just squirming and grappling, raising clouds of dust—particles which I don't even want to think about what they originally belonged to. _

_ Even though I know Roxas can kill people with just the strength of his fingers, even though we're in this hellhole where the sun doesn't always shine because the trash gets in the way and where the rain can burn away your skin and the lightning can send you up in flames and where it's not only normal but encouraged to fuck over your fellow man— if we can be called men at all—as thoroughly as possible. Despite all that, it's still always cute to watch them wrestle. Maybe because Axel is a lot better at hand-to-hand, better at maneuvering his long legs and Roxas always ends up pinned and snarling. Not so much like rabid animal anymore and a lot more like a pissed cat._

_ I watch and laugh and I know it incenses the kid, but Axel always makes it up to him. Brushes dirt and oil from his cheekbone with his thumb, wraps an arm around his shoulders and leads him away to find something better to eat._

**ﮚ**

The blond gives a weak laugh and Axel has coiled in on himself again. But he looks up, green eyes flashing, and it reminds Sora of the solar storms he'd seen as a child on a vacation out into Northern Space. He wanders down the path of irrelevancies in the momentary quiet, wondering if all those with Northern blood display the same effect. He is too interested in the story to make a note to investigate Reno.

"I can take it from here, Dem," his mentor says, a slick, terrible smile spreading from ear to ear. His voice hangs low on his vocal cords, pulling up something grave and rumbling.

**ﮚ**

_Xemnas is the sort who can convince a legless donkey to take a walk through Hell and who can rest assured the poor ass will enjoy the trip there and back. Zexion is the sort who can make the donkey think the trip was its own idea all along. Xaldin will encourage it that there's no other choice. Luxord will entice it with false compromises. Vexen will offer it test-alternatives, seemingly less painful. Lexaeus will intimidate it until it simply bends like a twig to his will. And if all else fails, Xigbar will blow its brains out._

_ The metaphor is tiresome and that's not even counting all of us who are involved, mind you._

_ So, what I'm trying to say is, there is never, really, any question that we will get the fuck off this rock. _

_ When it finally happens, it's pretty anticlimactic; pretty nondescript. _

_ Xemnas calls us together, says its time and we load up on a ship._

_ It's not refuse transport, neither is it a penal vessel. Xigbar is the one to pilot, so I can only assume we've already begun the backstabbing. I guess that's why I go back to listening to Marluxia and Larxene's schemes. I've never trust Xemnas, and I probably never will. Not that I trust Marluxia and Larxene any farther than I can throw them, but they remember just as well as I do what it was like when we were still learning the ropes. We can put dates and descriptions to each other's scars._

_ Or… maybe I do it because I want to protect Roxas, there I said it. _

_ The point is, Marluxia and Larxene are already making plans to split as soon as we hit land. They know they can't take out the Nobodies or Luxord and his pets, so they're just going to run and they'll take me, but not Demyx. _

_ I let them think I'm in. All the way through the trip, which lasts weeks because, shit, we traversed the length of the known galaxy. You can't get any farther out into Deep Space than the Outreaches. It's the best place for your garbage: as many light-years off as possible. _

_ Something about where we land changes the plans. Something about the high towers and the air that seems so much more closed in. It's dirty in this sort of populated way, in this filthy human way; sweaty and intimate. It's as if have been moving and breathing and living, not just surviving because you have to live until your dying breath. Maybe it's the fact that the dust has somewhere to settle here. Maybe it's the food or maybe it's the clothing and maybe we are all bought off and… Maybe? Maybe we completely deserve what we're going to get._

_ Marluxia and Larxene stop their scheming like they knew it was going to be this good all along. _

_ I wonder if Junon has this kind of effect on everybody and… I bet it does. I bet that everyone stops scheming about how to get ahead in life, because it doesn't matter who you are, Junon will convince you that as long as you're in her streets, you've got it made. It's a violent way to pop our civilization cherry, but hey, who's complaining?_

_ Even Luxord seems excited, a little blinded by the lights, just like we were the first time we entered his mansion and saw fucking electricity and light bulbs for the first time. _

_ We've just upgraded to fluorescents._

**ﮚ**

_ Junon is a different kind of city from Xining, or Paris, or New York, even from Tokyo. It's a lot like Hong Kong, only bigger and so is the disparity between the rich and the scum. There are no 'poor' in Junon, because the mafia is usually pretty quick to take care of that. Absorb them in some kind of creepy osmosis, or, at the very least, start supplying the fuckers to get the debts racked up. _

_ Luxord is 'that' kind of schemer as well. _

_ He values favors over wealth and… not that he doesn't like to have both. _

_ And that's how he fits into Xemnas's master plan. _

_ Luxord knows where and how to get hold of these favors._

_ He befriends a certain Adelei Niska and... I'm not going to repeat the stories Luxord told us about him. But Niska is a kingpin with a reputation. That being: if you cross him, you are crossing with the Devil and your grave is hot on your tail. _

_ We get a lot of money out of the old bastard and we owe him a lot of favors by the end too, but we're backstabbers favors and credits are like prayers._

_ We each have our "marks"; targets, people who have no reason to be subtle about their wealth. These are people who deal with scam-artists and would-be usurpers all the time because of their flaunting. But they've never dealt with people like us before, we aren't just Nobodies; we really have nothing more to lose. What's the worst they can do? Send us back to the Junkyard? You don't get sent out to D'If for being a con artist and that's the only punishment that would scare us._

_ This air of invulnerability leaves something on us, just like we could always tell who came from the Zone, just like I will always know Roxas is from the Zone and so is Saïx. A lot of them can tell, but in this, special, arrogant way—Old Man Shinra is a prime example—they like the danger and think themselves above its repercussions. They get so drunk and heady on the excitement they forget the threat altogether._

_ There are a few who aren't quite that stupid. Xaldin goes after a talkative little scumbag named Badger, a guy we would never bother with if he didn't have connections and information and favors and a lot of trade, which he establishes by means of his rodent habits. _

_ The other two are Mingo and Fanty, who we meet through Badger. They fence stolen goods and make a hell of a profit out of it. They take an immediate liking to Demyx, so it seems only natural to have him get in their good graces. They're both cautious men, intelligent too, what for their two heads and that strange sort of telepathy twins sometimes share. But Demyx is so easy to trust. Those two don't want to know the whole of what's going on, even to the end._

_ And Larxene goes after Patience. She's the elderly old matriarch of the Whitefall Moons. That is a sight to see, because Patience never for a second makes the mistake of trusting us. The way Larxene tells it, she knew the whole time, and when her clock struck she smiled and said Larxene better make her proud. I only bother mentioning it because it's probably the only touching thing due to happen in this entire stage of Xemnas's plans._

_ The rest of us all set our sights on aristocrats._

_ Zexion has a spoiled boy by the name of Atherton Wing._

_ Vexen gets the Tams, which is a stroke of good fortune and a little bit of genius on his part. The Tams are absolutely bereaved because their son, a certain young well-renowned surgeon, is on the run with their—military's own personal lab-rat—daughter. They're more than happy to take Vexen in, especially when he displays such a thirst for knowledge, such an eagerness to work in medicine, just like that 'other' boy of theirs._

_ I get Old Man Shinra and his brat son, which is… it seriously has to be the worst thing that has ever happened to me._

_ Xemnas lures in the chairman of the Iwamura Mako plants, while Marluxia sets his sights on the man's best friend, one Nobu Toshikazu, who just so happens to have a Mecha factory to his own name._

_ This playgirl from Luna, named Victoria, takes a liking Lexaeus._

_ The others aren't as rich and aren't as important, they're just the unlucky few who get caught in this pseudo-fifth-column plan of ours._

_ Victoria and Rufus are the only two we don't…_

**ﮚ**

Axel shifts, Demyx blinks rapidly.

"You killed them, I know," Sora blurts and almost wants to regret it. He feels a little bit sickened; except he _can't_ because this isn't the first time he's experienced this. He was there when Monte Cristo exacted his revenge upon Morcerf, Danglars, and Villefort. Upon all of Paris.

"It was Roxas." Axel might just sound a little hysterical as he _blurts_ out his thoughts, exactly the same way Sora had. No thought, just a untamed emotion that has to come out or else he'll vomit.

Demyx is calm, deliriously so. "Xemnas made sure Roxas was the one to kill them all. The only two who survived were Victoria and Rufus, but Victoria slipped up in front of Lexaeus, so we know about some dirty business and… Rufus doesn't know anything. He is too grateful for his father's death to know anything."

"So we can blame it all on him!" Axel continues as if Demyx could have just disappeared and he wouldn't have noticed. "That's a fucking lie. It's to protect Xemnas's hide! Because if it were that convenient, we wouldn't be where we are!"

He kicks over the table.

"He's got us! I never trusted him! But of all the _shit _I expected him to do. I never… I expected him to kill us! Rat us out! Keep us as slaves! Not blackmail us into this! Fucker!"

There it is, Sora thinks detachedly. One more piece of the puzzle.

Axel keeps kicking the table, heaving his boots down on it until the legs splinter and crack.

Demyx watches, his eyes glittering. "There it is, Sora, that's it. That's us. Them? The originals, the Nobodies, Luxord and Saïx. Even Roxas. They're merciless and they will double cross you." He laughs because it's just too perfect. "They'll ride you just as hard as they've ridden us and they'll tempt you." His tilts his head to one side and his face becomes sharp and looks exactly how Sora imagines he must have in his childhood, in the Outreaches where he was part of the Oblivion, where he barely existed as more than trash. "They'll offer Riku to you. They might even get Roxas to do it, since you've made such a show of liking him."

"Roxas does what Luxord tells him to. The end." Axel snarls and storms out of the restaurant, dropping a handful of heavy platinum coins onto the floor, as if to pay for the damage. "Tribes will always be thicker than--"

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**


	11. XI The Hundred Sufferings

He has the image of Roxas drenched in blood floating around in the back of his head as they make their way to the shuttle. Axel has been clammed up, looking dark and brooding, but after his explosion the lava slowly begins to slip away and cool, until he is smiling broadly once again.

It's a kind defense, the idea of which is cemented in Sora's thoughts.

He resolves not to aggravate this particular issue again.

Not overtly, or at least not soon.

"You know," he offers. "I really miss being able to fence."

For once, it seems to be the right thing to say. It makes the redhead's smile widen. He gets a thoughtful look on his face and the relief Sora catches, peripherally from Demyx, is visceral and palpable together.

"We'll arrange something. You need to stay in shape if you expect anyone to fuck you."

It's a funny sort of hypocrisy though. Sora doesn't believe this playfulness to be an act. Especially not after the picture Demyx had painted of the time in the Junkyard. Though, Sora could be entirely wrong. Their profession is lying and selling things that cannot rightfully be sold, let alone possessed, but they convince people otherwise.

Defense, it is… it is adorable—in a very sick way—how everything is about defense to them. And the sex they have on the ship is definitely security. Demyx on his knees, playing a part that doesn't really quite fit. If he's lived in the Junkyard, he can't be that way, that simpering and weak, it isn't possible. If everyone could know how he'd been back then… they might find him even more beautiful.

He is ugly, really perfectly ugly, drooling around Sora's cock, taking Axel's up his ass like he could never ask for anything else. Demyx is emitting the same morose resignation that Sora has understood about Axel since the very first day. These are same things he sees hints of in Irvine's face, Reno's too.

It's something that Roxas doesn't allow himself to wallow in, and that fact makes the blond all the more tragic, that fact makes Sora care for his friend that much more.

He's got a quiet kind of hatred building in his abdomen, and it's all for Xemnas.

It's for the Castle.

It's for the Tribes once known as the Nobodies, the Oblivion, and the Sun, Moon, and Star.

He really doesn't want to let all that anger go, not here, not now, but it almost seems as if Demyx wants it, right down his throat. Except Sora is certain neither of them understand how much this injustice infuriates him, how much it makes him think of Riku and himself and Paris and all the things he thought he'd been running from.

Maybe he's been a little sheltered and maybe he's a little scared and maybe that makes him that much more determined.

**ﮚ**

When they dock with the Castle, Demyx leaves immediately, murmuring something quiet and sad about having a prominent customer in the next hour.

That's all right with Sora, nonetheless.

He smiles up at Axel, so vivid as to be disarming.

"You don't have to go out until later. How about you fence with me?"

The redhead almost looks surprised. "I don't fence," he answers evasively, after hot little moments clutter up the air. "But, you know, since we've been in China… I've learned the Wind and Fire wheels."

The atmosphere is finally getting brighter of its own accord.

"Let's see who's better."

The physical exertion and the violence are exactly what they need.

Though, they both realize it is entirely unacceptable to take any blood at all, let alone the first. So, their fight is more of a contest to see who can make whose bones ring the longest from sheer force.

Who can push and push and push until their heart is thundering, their breath is heaving, and their body is drenched in sweat. Who can get completely lost within the parameters of steel on steel and the words it whispers.

The training room is painfully benign and also ridiculously soft, contrived entirely of drab colors and padding and not a speck or a fleck of blood. Which lets Sora know that the room either it isn't used, or those who use it are flawlessly skilled. Masterfully so, and that piques his interest in all the ways which so obviously infuriate Axel to the boiling point. To where his hair fairly bristles and flames pop at his fingertips, just like Sora knows it really can.

It's hours later when they collapse and they both fall back to the mats of the training hall at about the same time. The pads remind Sora of the sturdy foam used to line spaceships. Their irony remind Sora, unfailing; of what he'd heard earlier in the day and how inescapable the human virus is, even when some of those involved are not human at all.

Axel is laughing quietly. "For a spoiled little rich kid…"

"Don't get me started, Axel!"

They laugh like they've been friends for a lot longer than they have been. It is--

"Isn't that just endearin'." The voice comes from the doorway and, when they look, Xigbar is there. His black hair, streaked with stormy lightning, hangs down around his bare shoulders. He's obviously come here to exercise; he holds a pair of escrima sticks loosely in one hand. "I've been hearing a lot about your protégé, Axel, but I haven't been properly introduced, yet."

Sora doesn't really need to hear Axel's hiss to know Xigbar is trouble. The scars and the eye patch and the natural growl of his voice do enough to warn him. Not to mention the terrible way the bold lettering of II glares out from where it's carved jaggedly into the flesh above the man's right pectoral.

The redhead gets up, his body showing a strange amount of languid grace, the jut of one of his hips and the pull of his shoulders conveying some kind of jaunt.

"We just don't see enough of each other, Xiggy."

It isn't incitement. It's very similar to the game he plays with Rufus. But there's real danger lurking beneath the veneer of disgust and Xigbar's sneer.

"No. We really don't. But we all know why that is. Since you're not doin' your job anyway, why don't you hurry up and introduce us?"

Number VIII grits his teeth for a second and then motions lazily. It's the kind of motion that should be followed closely by ten or so knives being flung. "Sora, Xigbar, likewise, etcetera, _ad nauseam_. We can be going now, if you want the room."

"Ah, no, don't let me scare you off now." His show of teeth is the best sort of unquestionable contradiction.

"It was nice to meet you, I've heard so much about you," Sora murmurs with some vague inflection of sincerity—it is habit. His habit and his propensity for lies really is vile. His words are more thoroughly absorbed by the mats than by the powerful man before him. "I'm sure I'll see you around."

As he and Axel make a break for the door, Xigbar snatches his arm, looks him right in the eye. It's like a golden bullet boring into his gray matter, leaving rips of black ink.

"I'm sure I will."

Then he shoves, sends Sora's lithe frame colliding with Axel's. The redhead catches him and still manages to offer Xigbar a cordial goodbye.

In the hallway, he gives Sora a look. Its message resides in a worrisome crack between 'I told you so' and 'I _told_ you'. The difference between the two being all-consuming and also wholly irrelevant.

The way back to Axel's room has become almost instinctual, and Sora isn't entirely sure why. Though he doesn't think anyone would dare to push Axel so far as to invade his inner sanctum.

It's a safe haven.

They wash up together and Sora observes as Axel dresses. The redhead rubs something sweet smelling onto his skin, which reminds Sora undeniably of Riku, though he refrains from saying as much. He feels an empty ache in his stomach and an arousal of interest from his groin.

"You don't usually bother with perfume."

Axel doesn't usually bother with jewelry or makeup either, but his eyelids are darkened and intense, and there's gold glittering around his throat. He slides on several more pieces of fabric, sleeves to cover his arms and legs, taking away the sharp jut of joints with sleek black velvet. The cloth he puts around his waist is much the same, with soft tassels hanging at the fringe.

"Seymour enjoys the game more than he enjoys the sex," Axel murmurs, still in the process of fastening dangling aurulent chains to the upper cartilage and lobe of his ears. "There's a valuable lesson in there somewhere; about learning and gauging people's sexual tastes." He makes a sort of face. An unhappy, disgusted downward spike from the corner of his mouth.

It takes a great amount of effort for Sora to resist saying he just shouldn't go.

"I know." His words holds the nuances of things far more painful, and far less pressing. However, the brunet feels the statement is appropriate enough to ease his conscience until something else can be done.

Axel stands, clicks off the light of his heavy metal vanity table—sin, they all have their sins—his jewelry jingles and his hair flows wildly over his shoulders.

"I can't take you with this time, so stay out of trouble. I'm getting sick of saving your ass."

It is a warning Sora fully intends to heed.

**ﮚ**

When he leaves Axel's room, he searches only to find food and to pass by Roxas's quarters to see if the blond will speak with him for a few moments. Despite Axel's vehemence and Demyx's reluctant abhorrence of him, Sora is yet unwilling to hate XIII.

The kitchens prove elusive, but after wandering the halls, employing sheer bloody mindedness, Sora finds his way back to the strange room where he and Axel had attempted to eat and where he had first met Lexaeus and Zexion.

It is the time of night when whores are otherwise occupied and he sees no one. Although, admittedly, Sora has found reasons to suspect the nature of everyone's involvement in this forced prostitution. There is no way that simple blackmail could keep all eleven of the others against their will. There must be further dealings and stipulations, conditions and alliances that he is yet unaware of.

This room still reminds Sora greatly of his father's study, though, his father had rarely used it and it had previously been his grandfather's, before he moved to the Twilight sector. His grandfather, Ansem, had been very good friends with Monsieur Noirtier.

Empty, Sora finds the chamber much more inviting. Its heavy brocade designs are warm and infused with the flickering heat of the hearth. The smell of food, of the gas fireplace and incense are absolutely intoxicating in a way he did not noticed the last time he had been here. He wishes suddenly that Axel had brought him more often instead of insisting he remain behind in the rooms to rest or stay out of trouble.

Sora takes one of the delicate china plates from the stack and heaps food on it, his hunger having gone unabated for the entirety of the day. He blames it on that harpy Courtellia Shifelle and her heavily creamed coffee and sour inquiries that had settled on his stomach like lead.

He isn't in the mood to think about her and as he relaxes into one of the huge chairs, he instead considers just who the cooks might be. A trip to the kitchens could be an enjoyable venture, if he could convince someone to take him. Axel does not seem the type to pass up on free food, but with Demyx along for the ride, the atmosphere might remain clearer, maybe a little more cheerful if he can be coerced into bringing out his sitar.

At one point, Sora has the inescapable idea that someone is watching him. It lingers overlong until his appetite disappears and his appreciation for the warm quiet room fails him in its entirety. He looks hurriedly for a place to leave the plate, doesn't find one, and so sets it on the table. Then he flees out into the well-lit hallways, away from the rustle of the many books, with their many pages, on their many shelves.

As he moves through the abandoned hallways, he realizes, logically, that Roxas will not be at the Castle, he will be out with one client or another, just like all the others. However, the brunet has not spoken to the other in many days and his longing for the other—he has begun to think of as friend—has grown strong, too strong to really resist any longer.

On his way, he meets with Larxene as she is headed off somewhere. She stops long enough to punch him, hard, in the shoulder and comment on his guest appearance to Shiffelle's talk show. Then she hurries on her way, still sneering at him like he's a bug smear she's left on the carpet.

He passes by number X's door as he goes and feels a chill shoot through him as he reflects upon the story of the day. He questions how deep the bond between Roxas and Luxord goes, and just how much of it has come from torture and fanatical emotional dependency.

Sora is not sure whether to be surprised or possibly not… that Roxas's door is open. The panel protruding from the wall is exposed and it appears someone has entered the code to gain their access without Roxas's consent.

There are only so many scenarios Sora can think of as explanation. It is easy for an innocent person to gain entrance to the Castle, they can waltz right in the front door, but just like any other casino or well-to-do brothel, the entire place is constantly monitored. Roxas will never have to worry about any trouble, except from his fellows.

It is Luxord inside the room and Roxas is with him. From what Sora can hear, they are discussing the Shifelle Show, quietly, hurriedly. It makes sense that they would need to keep well informed with whatever current, entirely vapid, storyline they are meant to act upon. However, the conversation turns sharply after the love triangle has faded from the fore.

"He should leave, he'll just cause trouble, he's worse than Saïx." Roxas is complaining.

"Do not bring that issue into it." Luxord dismisses him wearily.

"That issue? That is _the_ issue. Saïx and Xemnas and Sora. Why? Why am I still indebted? Haven't I done enough?"

"You know that if you are discontent, you need only come to your big brother."

"Shut up!" Roxas is pulled to Luxord's chest as the man embraces him. The younger man's voice hitches terribly. "Fuck you! I don't want this anymore."

"What you want has never mattered," Luxord croons and pets his hair. Sora thinks he will be sick, violently so. "We only care for what Xemnas wants. Since Morcerf has fallen from power his plans have been derailed, he needs a companion, someone calm and deadly, like you, to keep him composed. Xemnas always gets what he wants… it keeps him happy and oblivious to what I do and you would never want your big brother to be troubled… would you?"

"Shut up," Roxas repeats weakly, his entire body giving way to pathetic tremors and wild hiccupping breaths. "I would rather go back…"

"Would you?" Luxord pulls him up, holds the boy's tiny body —but he's deadly and he _isn't_ a boy—into his arms and takes them both to Roxas's large bed. Lays them out together and cradles his creation to his chest. "Big brother can arrange for you to go home."

Roxas is silent, but at length he murmurs. "Not yet. I… I am afraid to go back to the darkness."

"You will never have suffered enough, Roxas," Luxord says. His tone implies he has had counsel with fate, with the very Gods, and he knows that all of Time is his to divine. Yet, he still kisses Roxas's forehead as if, with no consolation whatsoever, he will at least forgive the sinner. Sora can see quite clearly how Luxord has Roxas wrapped in golden razor wire; lies and promises and fears.

"Not Sora too," Roxas begs. He is very small in Luxord's arms. His body wracks with one irrepressible sob, as if he has given up. "B… brother, please. Not him too."

The urge to kill Luxord then and there is nigh on irrepressible.

But Sora backs away.

He leaves Roxas there, trapped in the jaws of the beast and turns to flee down the hallway.

His cowardice screams out with shrieking delight.

**ﮚ**

Sora is wearied of watching everyone around him suffer.

His own pain he could weather, could eventually overcome.

However, it makes his blood boil to see the people he cares for held in bondage as they are. He is not over all the tragedies of Paris. He is still scarred by the ruins of all he had thought unshakeable in his youth.

He returns back to Axel's heated room, because he has nowhere else to go.

His thoughts center on Roxas and then upon Riku and… he masturbates hurriedly, jerking roughly and taking nothing but a perfunctory sort of pleasure and a languid emptiness from the act. The exertion makes it that much easier to boil away his anxiety in a bath and then tumble lifelessly into his own bed.

It's a retreat, of sorts.

Yet, even in his sleep, the misery haunts him.

**ﮚ**

Riku glows faintly at times. Like when he is coaxed and tricked into opening up his heart, which he holds tightly closed for reasons Sora cannot at all fathom.

Riku had glowed, but just a little bit, on the day Villefort threatened his beloved Count with a slug pistol and wild darting eyes.

Riku had glowed as he cried his tension out into his palms. It had angered Riku to be crying.

Now, Riku's lips are pursed, his lovely teal skin has a beautiful luster and his limpid eyes glitter with an unprecedented emotion.

"I'm sorry," Sora soothes hurriedly, confused but reveling in his companion's rare show of vivid emotions. However, he believes, he can understand if Riku does not desire to discuss how he came to be in the Count's service.

The forgotten prince of a betrayed country smiles in return, caustic, sharp, and twisted, but it is a smile, nonetheless. Straight rows of ivory teeth glimmer from beneath thin, curving lips.

"No, Sora," he says faintly. His voice calm, loving even, something which Sora has longed for since the moment he first laid eyes upon his prince. "It is high time I told you."

The young heir to the Favreau family feels like an awkward boy just now entering puberty once again. His voice cracks and his limbs feel strange as he gesticulates as gracelessly as a nonfunctioning autistic.

"If it pains you, Riku, please, not on my account."

"Shut up and listen, Sora."

Sora never fails to be awed by Riku, the royal way with which he always conducts himself, the self-assured hauteur that could be attractive on no one else. Yet all the while he holds a deep-seeded unrest, the mystery of which has always made him all the more handsome. He is vibrant and distinct and shines like a star, always recognizable, even amongst a crowd of huge swirling petticoats and ridiculous hats. He is a singular work of art situated within the museum of the world, drawing more open mouthed gawking than diamond pyramids and ancient masterpieces.

"My family name is that of Tebelin and I am the son of Ali, pasha of Janina who held all of Turkish space in his thrall. My mother was his favorite wife, Vasiliki. You… you must know, your father served in the war as well… though he was not stationed at Janina… Damn it, do you know who was? Albert's father. Morcerf, I would recognize him anywhere, even if he has changed his name."

Without any apparent reason, Sora shudders. Riku's eyes are murderous and they flicker without any shred of pity in them. Still, the man's cold fury is enticing.

"He was there at the fall of Janina, Sora. I was barely four-years-old, but I remember that night clearly. There are very few things which stand out more vibrantly in my mind. I remember my mother taking me from my bed, her eyes huge and wet, and the servants rushing all around us. I remember hiding all of my father's wealth away in the dark kiosk beneath the palace and I remember waiting there amongst the gold with my mother and my father's most trusted guard. For hours, waiting. Waiting for word."

Riku's eyes are exactly as moist as he has described his mother's have to been. Sora imagines she must have been strong and enchanting, just like her son.

"Please, Riku," he begs, taking hold of the hand of his heart's dear. "You do not have to continue."

"I will tell you everything, Sora!" the Prince retorts stiffly, pulling his hand away and gently wiping his eyes with the graceful fabric of his robe. "Everything… My father sent a French officer to make known our surrender, for our own garrison attacked us. The lazy pigs were tired of war, they wanted to cut their losses and run to hide beneath the skirts of the Alliance. Father and mother and I were meant to make haste for our retreat after the surrender was accepted and there we would have lived quietly. Had that officer not betrayed my father's most implicit trust. He sold us out, Sora. Our people were slaughtered except for the few of us they deemed worthy to sell. Morcerf bought his nobility with the destruction of my family. He claimed my father had left him his fortune and there was no one left to contradict him."

**ﮚ**

There is more to the tale. Sora can without fail recount every word Riku uttered. He can paint the scene of their slavery just as clearly as Riku could. He knows how Vasiliki killed herself in the streets as soldiers marched past with her husband's head mounted upon a machinegun. He knows how Riku came to belong to Monte Cristo. What the Count meant to him and how he helped him to find his revenge.

Morcerf has fallen.

The Count and Riku have exacted their revenge.

Yet there has been no fairytale ending.

Sora has his own painful memories.

Images of a crowded spaceport, shoving through throngs of people with untamed abandon and single-minded force. Catching sight of Riku, breathtaking, as always, with his head titled back, staring up out the port into the sky. The horrendous noise and pressurized hiss as the craft descends. Meeting his beloved's eye for one wretched second. Not being able to reach him. Watching helplessly as he boards the ship and disappears into space, without a word. Or even a goodbye. Leaving, as his wake, deep lacerations in his young suitor's heart.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**


	12. XII Numbers 11 and 7

Sora awakens the next morning—morning being relative—as something is thrown at his face. Whatever it is tingles like a tiny current of electricity running through his body. When Sora opens his eyes, all he sees is his own smiling face moving in a repetitious circle of expressions.

He's made the front cover of some rag of a magazine. It shouldn't feel like much of an accomplishment after his debut to interstellar television just the day before. Yet, in some vaguely quaint way, the magazine is more… soul crushing. Yes, he decides, staring blearily at the page. That is exactly what it is.

The laughter in Axel's voice is all too plain. "How do you feel about that, Sora?"

"Like I should just give up the ghost and be done with it."

"They'd have a field day with that. You'll get used to it."

"I'd rather not."

"Isn't it a bit early to be so grumpy, Sora?" Axel is sneering and smiling, idly smoking a cigarette with a long filter at his vanity table, his reflection mirroring with contemptuous perfection. He seems pleased with himself and therefore Sora doesn't feel too bad about taking the jab when the opening presents itself.

"Have a good time last night?"

"Tcch, you're a shit, just like Roxas."

"Could you leave him out of it?"

"You'd think you were in love with him!"

Sora frowns and tries to recall his resolution not to aggravate this issue; not to poke at it with a stick. Kids don't really do that anymore these days. There aren't many dead animals and there aren't many sticks. Just metal, scrap metal, metal cages, and little mechanical animals, travesties, mockeries of the long since dead.

"Shut up, I'm hungry, let's go eat?"

Axel drags hard on the nicotine and then stubs it out on the metal tabletop. It singes only slightly, leaving a faint scar, it will wash away almost clean. "Yeah, okay."

"You know," Sora begins as he scrambles from bed, following his mentor into the hallway. "We should go down to the kitchens."

Axel pauses mid stride and puts his hands on his hips, making him look more feline than ever with his stark lines of sinew pulled taut. "And why should we do that?"

"So we can eat the food?"

"Can't we do that upstairs?"

And it strikes Sora a glancing blow of amusement to grasp so suddenly that Axel has never had a childhood. Has never had a kitchen to sneak into and has never had cooks to curie favors with. Probably has never even smelled a pastry straight from the oven, much less eaten one.

That most certainly explains some of the more peculiar facets of his current personality. The kitchen will make a wonderful outlet of childishness to slowly sieve off what has been building up since his days in the Junkyard, where he was born a survivalist without any preamble into the world of optimism or idealism.

"Where do you suppose Demyx is this time of day?" the Frenchman wonders, posing quite apropos, forefinger caressing his chin.

"Just shut up, Sora, do you want to eat or not?"

"Yes, but in the kitchens."

Axel cuffs him by way of his head, frowning a bit but still giving an intrigued little smile.

"What's with the arbitrary whims, my lord?" It's pleasantly mocking. Sora's conviction grows a little more formidable.

"It will be fun," Sora says at last, latching on to the magic word, the one that makes Axel's green eyes give a sudden sparkle, wicked, and yet still their cynicism.

"Yeah, okay, kid."

In the name of friendly fun Sora even hijacks a few sashes to tie around their waists because this has nothing to with the Castle and nothing to do with the Thirteen. It's all about them and Sora desperately hopes Axel understands that.

Maybe he does, if his smile is any indication. It's huge and white and glittering and lovely. Just maybe, he understands.

Or not.

Axel points to hickie on his side.

"Lesson," he begins airily as they walk the halls. "Don't ever let someone leave a mark on your neck or your shoulders. Too obvious." He puts his arms back down and gives a horribly smug sigh. "See, no one will notice."

"Thank you, master, your tutelage is invaluable, I do not know where I would be if not for you guidance, " the brunet replies with a shocked monotone. He can't believe that Axel has desecrated their trip to the kitchen with such an act.

"Don't think any—"

As he speaks, Sora is hit in the face with a bundle of clothing.

The boy flails against them, trying to unbury his face from within the confines of the textile attack.

A button gets caught in his hair and he yanks and yanks and yanks and…

"Stop that, boy, put the clothing on."

At the sound of that whip-sharp voice, Sora stills instantly.

"_Grand-père_," he whispers, his tone canting with the easiness of his first language.

Axel thinks Sora should always speak in French, as he sounds so perfect with his tongue rolling like water. It's beautiful, as opposed to the guttural combination of English and Mandarin that comprises the Official Language of the Alliance.

"A month's time here and you have already forgotten how to dress yourself, very well."

Monsieur Favreau _Aîné_ is an intimidating man with eyes the color of a particularly rare brand of tea, or that is to say, of a limpid, bloody, red. His figure is cut in much the same vein as Sora's, and he was probably more prominently muscular in his youth, now he smacks of an aged academic. His broad shoulders remain, even if the muscle has receded with his vitality. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes and mouth do nothing if not make him look older, severer.

Ansem begins to assist Sora in dressing, but the boy yanks back, his face flushed with embarrassment and possibly something else Axel cannot yet understand. He finds that disconcerting, Sora is so friendly and understands others' true emotions with such pure effortlessness. It's different, more beatific than the cruel-hearted way Axel has learned to manipulate and read.

"_Grand-père, je suis désolé…"_

"Your manners too have fled you, boy. Does your companion speak French? I think not. Continue on in Allegiant so he might understand." Ansem Favreau's voice is that of a leader; sharp, commanding, self-assured. His pattern of speech is much the same, as is his immaculate dress and hair; perfectly combed and gelled into rigid place.

Axel feels his spine straightening despite himself.

"I'm sorry, grandfather," Sora babbles inanely, hurriedly yanking at hems and buttons and coming away looking more rumpled than before. His hands are shaking as he undoes the clasps of his blouse once again; the sequence had been off, leaving him lopsided.

Axel watches.

Ansem's eyes soften imperceptibly. "Your father would not come."

Sora stiffens again, but then all his trepidation fades away. His hands fall to his sides limply and he looks up, smiling faintly and laughing.

"I could have dealt with him more easily."

"I am aware, and that is why I have come in his stead. He, perhaps, is satisfied to let you disappear, your mother, perhaps, to woefully announce she is giving you freedom… A month gone by and then you appear upon our video screens. A fresh new scandal when things had finally begun to quiet after _that incident_. I will not have it." _That incident_ being the Morcerf suicide, Villefort's incarceration, and Danglars ruin.

The man looks balefully to Axel, begging his leave with the severe lines of age marring his strong features.

"You two have things to discuss," Axel yammers pitifully, and now fully begins to sympathize with Sora's earlier fit of shaking. He backs away, hands held up in arrest of attack. "I'll get some breakfast. Coffee? Yes. I'm going."

"You always did befriend cowards," Ansem notes drolly, but that is the end of his commentary. He is now all business. He draws Sora into an aside room, one he has requested from Xemnas personally. He draws liberally off the tap of power to the Favreau name.

"He isn't a coward…" Sora finds his protests on the subject to be in vain.

**ﮚ**

When they emerge again, Axel has been standing with his ear to the door, trying desperately to hear but catching only whispers, for nearly an hour. He stumbles back hurriedly, holding up the coffee as an offering of peace. Ansem however, turns his nose up at the Northern barbarian and walks away, leaving Sora behind.

Axel isn't sure he even needs to ask, so he presses a blueberry bagel into his pupil's hands without words.

"Well, I've been disowned," Sora mumbles, stuffing a large piece of bread into his mouth, chewing and letting blueberries squish between his teeth. "II had hoped to buy myself back with my remittance… but now I'll have to trust that Riku will buy me. He will."

The bagel is gone and Sora seems saddened. Axel is puzzled, since the boy has never mentioned his family before. He had assumed there was no love to lose between them.

"Crazy old geezer," he mutters, and half-hopes it isn't the most offensive move possible on his part.

Sora's big blue eyes sparkle and he laughs again, quiet and overwrought. "Let's go to the kitchens now."

Axel pats his head. "Yeah, sure."

If stuffing his face full of food will make him feel better, Axel has no complaints.

The kitchens are huge and look almost entirely modernized except for a few queer contraptions, which seem to be more aged than a grandmother's, grandmother's, grandmother's kitchen utensils. They're made of black lacquered steel and are set beside wooden block counters. The rest of the room is stainless chrome colors and pure white tiles, which have to be wiped down every few moments with bleach to keep them shining. Kitchen aids scurry all around them, carrying giant pots and pushing squealing trays.

Axel has never even been to the kitchens before and he's never seen the cook. So, when he gets there and it's this sweet looking old lady named Missus Pots and a man babbling, what sounds to be, profanities in French he is surprised.

"These are our class A chefs?" Axel laughs and Sora laughs right along with him.

Missus Pots seems delighted to have them, she sits them down at once and gives them tea and cookies. Louie seems only to give fondness to Sora, appearing to enjoy having someone to converse with in French. He curses openly at Axel even while proffering more sweets towards the brunet.

"_Manger ceci_!" The man keeps proclaiming and twirling his shiny mustache around his pinky finger. Sora just smiles and eats another muffin or another slice of cake or another cookie or… binge. It's the kind of binge that makes supermodels cry and hate themselves for months.

It just makes the kid smile.

Axel kind of hates himself—just like those supermodels—for falling so head over heels for the boy. Emotional binge. It's not going to get him anything but hurt, and he just can't make himself care.

"My _grand-père_," Sora says after a long while. It's been quiet, just the clinking sounds of the kitchen and the warm yeasty smells. Axel looks at him over the rim of his teacup, seeming intent for the boy's sake, even if he isn't listening. "He first taught me how to fence, so I guess I cared for him, a lot."

Axel groans and expects pontification at epic angst ridden lengths, but that's all Sora has to say. He smiles again, as if nothing is wrong, and then returns to eating his tart.

"Yeah?" his new mentor wonders. Feels the burn of irony at being the one to teach the aristocrat something this time around.

"Mmhmm," the brunet grunts around his food.

Kitchen politics… Axel thinks dreamily, he wishes he'd learned what that term could mean to someone years earlier.

**ﮚ**

Later in the day, they come across Demyx and tease him about missing out on all the sweets, but promise to introduce him to Missus Pots and Louie eventually. The musician pouts and complains and says that, if they exclude him, he'll just go get his own apprentice.

It's far too much like being friends and Axel is happy to shatter the whole illusion by suggesting they go looking into that trainee for him.

Still pursuing that joke, they head back to the room where they first met. It's just as Sora remembers, with its long heliotrope couches and throw pillows decorated with pretty pieces of people.

Marluxia is there, sitting next to a petite little woman in a white dress. Her clothing makes her stand out, as Sora imagines his own must. He realizes he's more uncomfortable dressed than naked now. He wonders what that means.

But despite noticing her, Sora is not in the mood for greetings, he resists as Axel tries to drag him to meet number XI and his companion. However, it comes to no avail and when they round the couch, he has no choice but to take in the figure which is Marluxia.

He's… Sora thinks he is more beautiful now, just lounging around, even more than when he caught a glimpse of the man previously, during the filming sessions.

His numbers, XI, are exquisite and artistic, more so than any of the other brands Sora has seen thus far, the letters curve like vines, one around each rosy nipple.

Marluxia eyes him like everyone else does, like he's food, but his gaze is worse than most, as if he's already plotting how he can ride hard and put away wet.

"Well, well, well," he drawls, drawing the girl beside him closer by her drooping shoulders. She seems tense and only becomes more uncomfortable as he reels her in like a fish. "It took you long enough, Axel, I've already heard so much from Larxene…"

"Funny how loyalties change," Axel answers with his slimiest grin. Marluxia's pretty petal face morphs, hardening to thorns until he's oppressing the entire room with his anger.

It takes him a conscious effort to calm down and return Axel's expression of bared teeth. "Funny," he agrees, gripping the lady beside him as if he thinks she'll escape at any moment. The words in her face express that very sentiment with great clarity. "Speaking of… this is Naminé… she's the one responsible for all our _farces_."

Axel makes his interpretation, growling in his throat, and playing Marluxia's game far too readily. "The writer, you mean." He eyes the woman and she stares back at him with trembling, limpid, blue eyes.

Demyx is standing with his head bowed a step behind Axel and Sora does not like to see this side of him, though he supposes he can understand the man's reasoning. Marluxia was their leader when they were young; subservience is a hard habit to break.

Action must be taken quickly else the situation will be given the chance to escalate to new heights of stress.

Sora grabs Axel's arm and yanks hard until he stumbles back against him.

It's the right… it's the perfect thing to do.

It breaks the tension, Axel is bewildered by his actions and it gives Naminé the chance to jump to her feet, playing at shock. It appears that the Slaves dressed as Consorts are not the only actors within this palace.

She drops a shining mechanical pencil with a clatter on the tiled floor and leaves it in her wake. Marluxia gives them the wolf's grin and then follows after her leisurely. The man acts like a predator that already has his prey assured to him… Sora is disturbed by the encounter; though he is not sure in what way he should interpret its significance.

**ﮚ**

Today, Sora reflects—sitting at the windowsill in one of the formal dining halls kept for the occasional use of the Thirteen, they never use it, never, ever, ever—has been a day for chance encounters. This means he has begun to amass the sort of notoriety he will sorely need if he expects to catch Riku's eye.

He smiles sadly and does not turn when Axel returns and holds out a piece of strange tropical fruit. Its rind is a fascinating shade and has a strange shape with six ridges. When he bites into it, it has a sharp green taste with a lingering bitterness. The seeds are very tiny, like a kiwi's, and white.

"Anywhere in the galaxy, Axel, where would you go?" Sora wonders. Trying not to sound as if he's being deep, trying to return to that feeling of guileless camaraderie they'd had for a few brief moments in the hallway. He has no idea if he is successful or not, but Axel does not get angry. Axel's mouth curves upward into something entirely different from a smile, but farther still from a sneer. The sweetness, the desperation for a childlike innocence, is permeable and outweighs all else. Sora is honestly touched by Axel's show of naïvety and dreams. He's thought about this before; his answer comes quickly, enthusiastically.

"The Dyton Colony," he chuckles, his breath condensing on the poly-glass of the windows. 'Glass' in the real sense has not been used in hundreds of years; this is a complicated combination of jewels and metals, tempered and polished and thinned.

Dyton… Sora turns then and stares. Dyton is on the outskirts of the Ing-Allegiant territory, it's the last bit of old fashioned England before you dip perilously close to Reaver Space and the Northern systems. Dyton is a piece of crap, a hunk of floating scrap metal in the abyss, not nearly as desolate as the Outreaches, but it's a wretched hive of scum and villainy. It spawns brokers like Badger, the kind who deal in stolen secrets and stolen goods and backstabbing and self-perpetuation. It's overpopulated, it's under funded, and an underground network of warring gangs control the Machine and everything that goes in or out of it.

"Why? Why would you want to… Dyton! That's the name that comes up when they're teaching school children about the influx of space pirating after the first Civil War, in Galactic Civilizations class."

"Think I'd stand out, out there?"

Sora pauses, thinks, and feels out his friend's emotions and understands.

"No, but you seem the type who would like it, the attention."

"That's the beauty of it, Sora, there I could stand out as a leader, a powerhouse, a rutting light in the dark. But I'd still be just another underground face. It'd be to die for, don't you see?"

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**


	13. XIII An Intelligent Companion

It has been a busy week of appearances and interviews, being dragged across interstellar space with Axel and Demyx. He's now been incorporated into their legend.

He's needed.

He isn't sure how he feels about that.

It's… degrading, but he's willing to go through degradation, he's willing to go through Hell, whatever it takes.

His goals, despite his vehemence, however, are beginning to warp.

If Riku does not want him, then can he find it in himself to be devoted to the new friends he has made in the months since his arrival at the Castle?

He is loyal. He has learned some things about loyalty.

"Do you two know what really happened in Paris?" he wonders. They're aboard the _Red Rose_ on their way to Bellerophon at the Core.

Demyx and Axel had, before his quiet interruption, been on the path to carnal distractions, hence Sora's need to forestall them. He's been working on the theory that if he can help them to lose some of this sexual disruption to their emotions, perhaps, things will work more smoothly. He could, of course, be entirely wrong, but he is not one to support casual sex, and he only withstood it while it was necessary.

"You mean with those bigwigs who were put down? Well, Danglars bankruptcy did cause a huge economic panic… but I thought he just played his cards poorly?" Demyx says, displaying in a dazzling show how he is not quite as vapid as others would have him seem. Though, their young friend does note, if they are not already aware of the situation, there are certain facts he will be required to withhold. Both for Riku's sake and for the Count's.

"Nnn, are you going to tell us a story, Sora?" Axel laughs and jeers, lying back and pouring himself a drink. The _Red Rose_ has a romantic past in her own right. She is an airship once beloved by Queen Brahne of Alexandria. She was shot from the sky long ago and has since been rebuilt to suit the necessities of space. She is resplendent in her glory and still more than worthy of a Queen.

Demyx elbows his belligerent friend in the ribs and smiles encouragingly at Sora. "Go on, maybe I'll write a song about it for you?"

Sora finds himself pleased by the offer and he clears his throat to begin, but Axel cuts him off once more.

"Wait a second," he says and starts foraging throughout the room, coming back with further pillows and blankets, arranging them and making himself comfortable at great length. "I like to be comfy in the midst of long, convenient, blocks of exposition."

Sora gives him an aggravated snort in reply. "This is what Riku said he had found out about the matter," Sora murmurs as his introduction. "There was once a young man in Marseilles, named Edmond Dantes. He was a simple sailor who worked for _Morrel & Sons_ on a cargo ship called the _Pharaon_. The money he made was used to support himself and his father. He hoped to one day be the captain of the ship, so he could marry his childhood sweetheart, Mercedes. That seemed to be his fate too, for during one long haul across the galaxy, the Captain took ill and died soon thereafter, leaving in Edmond's care a letter to be delivered to one Sergeant Reynolds stationed on Hera.

"This destination was not out of their way, so Edmond, as he was next in line, in the chain of command, decided he would fulfill his Captain's final request and deliver the letter. The arrival of _Pharaon_ to Hera was treated with great anxiety, and they were held under gunpoint while he made his delivery. As payment for his service, he was given safe passage away and yet another letter to deliver to a Monsieur Noirtier in Paris. Edmond, as recounted by his friends, was always a good man, and so he agreed to do this.

"Upon their return to Marseilles, Edmond was named captain of the _Pharaon_. He immediately went to share the news with his father and propose to Mercedes. However, another member of the crew deemed his happiness quite vulgar. Danglars, the accountant, was certain that the position of Captain should belong to him. He enlisted the help of one of Mercedes jealous suitors in disposing of Edmond. Together, they quickly cooked up a scheme to have him jailed for treason. The letters, as Danglars had read both of them while Edmond slept, were orders to Sergeant Reynolds to move to the Valley of Serenity, for a surprise offensive against the Alliance. Possession of these letters was deemed blatant treason. Under the pen of a 'concerned citizen' they wrote to the _procureur du roi_ of Marseilles about this plot.

"The day of Edmond's wedding, the police came to take him away. Mercedes, as well as his father and Edmond's employer, Monsieur Morrel, each went in turn to appeal for Edmond's release. They all knew he could not possibly be guilty of the crimes of which he was charged. However, the _procureur du roi_, after reading the letter addressed to Monsieur Noirtier, had Edmond sent away to be locked in the terrible _Château d'If_ for the rest of his miserable days. He would not admit this, of course, as it would be a black mark on his flawlessly, impartial, façade. He simply stated that Edmond had been found guilty of treason and there was nothing he could do. For if Edmond's side of the story were heard, everyone would know that Noirtier de Villefort was a traitor, and how would that reflect on his son?

"So, their motives were all selfish. The _procureur du roi_, Villefort, wanted to save face. The accountant, Danglars, wanted the increased pay he would receive as captain. And the jealous suitor, Morcerf, or shall I say, Mondego, wanted to steal the love of another for his unworthy self. In short, the events that came to pass in Paris were Edmond Dantes's revenge."

Axel and Demyx at least seem to appreciate the story and certainly Sora's extra motives behind telling it. They look at each other for a moment before they each give him a sly smile.

"And you were around for that. Front row seats," Demyx laughs, strumming his sitar and humming a few lines of whatever new song must be brewing inside his skull.

"What's going on in your pretty little head, Sora?" Axel whispers, though he sounds worried despite himself.

"Nothing, it's just a story that Riku told me," Sora responds, and who is to know that the Count and Edmond are one and the same or that Riku is his companion.

**ﮚ**

The interview itself is an unholy kind of boring. It's the same questions they're always asked, but with different, more extravagant than ever, answers. Their pupils might as well be star shaped for all they can see with the flashing of camera bulbs in their faces, leaving behind sparkles of overexposure.

The conference room of the _Shinra Hotel_ is a bland creation of folding chairs and white curtains and a short sturdy carpet of the most vile feces color.

"Tell us about how you grew up, Donatien, sweetheart," one young journalist in a brightly striped sweater simpers in his face.

Sora hides his eyes behind his hair and affects a sigh for the suffering of worlds. "Well, you see, Miss… oh, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Ooo," she croons and clucks like a mother hen. "It's Lockhart, honey, Tifa Lockhart."

"Well, Miss Lockhart, you see, it was very difficult. My parents… I didn't have them to protect me or nurture me, so I just had to fend for myself. In… in whatever ways I could." He's blushing at the story that's forming in his head and he broadcasts it clearly to the reporters.

"Did you, oh, Donatien, sweetie… did you have to…"

"Please," Sora's flush only grows stronger. "Please, it's so embarrassing, I'm just so glad Axel and Demyx saved me from that."

Axel grins horribly. "He fits right in with us."

Demyx elbows him.

Flash.

Give me lies.

Flash.

Give me mortification.

Flash.

Give me sexuality.

Flash.

Give me _vomit_.

**ﮚ**

They're halfway back to Chinese space and to Xining, lounging like bags of flesh upon the _Red Rose_'s opulent coral carpets.

"Oh, opulent," Demyx laughs at Sora's description, rolling backwards and springing from his hands to his feet deftly. Axel duplicates the feat, childish smiles cluttering both their features as they taunt their friend to do the same. "I'll give you a Credit for that one!"

Sora outdoes them both with well-practiced ease, cart wheeling and rolling and walking on his hands, grinning at them from upside down. It's the same frank grin he might have given them if they'd known each other when he was eight.

They're halfway back when they receive the message from Larxene, her depreciatory face jeering down at them from the many communication monitors, her dreadful mocking voice blaring at them from the speakers anchored throughout the chamber.

"Your ship will be taking a detour past Sihnon to pick up Inara Serra."

"Why don't you pick her up yourself," Axel snaps immediately.

At the same time Demyx proclaims, "Oh wonderful!"

Sora isn't sure which one to side with. However, Larxene's snickering gives him the impression that 'Inara Serra' is not something pleasant to encounter.

Axel glares at Demyx a while before returning his attention to Larxene's smirking expression. "Yeah, and just how do you expect to make us do this?"

"_Dahng ran_, Axel, this is an order from Xemnas, sent straight to your pilot before you even left The Castle." Her voice is full of glee in the face of Axel's fury, a fury that is radiating from his very skin. He's furious at losing control of a situation, for losing something he had been enjoying. It's an immature fit for having her ruin all his fun with this Inara girl. Sora feels a little bit angry too, but he tries to salvage what is left of their lighthearted atmosphere.

He smiles with all the beatific charm he can muster. "You'll have to introduce me, Axel."

The man gives a sharp angry laugh. "She'll just love you!" he caterwauls, and then slams his fist down on the panel, cutting out Larxene's transmission in a rage.

Demyx acts as water to smother that bursting flame, he rolls his eyes and draws Sora and his mop of burnt-caramel hair towards him.

"Well, Sora, my dear, Inara Serra is the current representative of the Companion's Guild, as she usually has the means to transport herself wherever she needs to. However, knowing her and the volatile Captain Reynolds, I can only assume that there has been a tiff and she is certain to be in a foul mood upon her arrival on our fair ship."

Sora exaggerates his mouth into a perfect circle and glances at Axel, the expression still cemented on his face.

"You look like you could use a cock in your mouth," number VIII rejoins, throwing himself petulantly to the pillows.

"Smut is in the mind of the beholder," Demyx chimes patronizingly.

"Well, what's she usually like?" Sora inquires, and while they wait, he learns.

**ﮚ**

Inara Serra is made-up in the trappings of a whore. Her hair is groomed and gelled unto vapid perfection. The coal around her eyes is far too dark, as is the bloody shade of her lipstick. Her skin is white, as if she truly believes sunshine to be a disease. Yet, she's possibly the most beautiful and self-composed woman Sora has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

"So, Donatien," she purrs upon seeing him, her dark eyes flickering in a sultry electrical storm of psychology. "Will you tell me your real name? Or will I have to extract it?"

Sora wonders what it is about her that Axel finds to be so unappealing.

"My name is Sora, Mademoiselle Serra," he spills with aristocratic airs to rival even the aged kings from before the revolution.

She seems amused. Her mouth quirking deadly sharp. "Favreau? Oh, yes, I know all about you. I'm glad to see you have taken ruining people's reputations as a full time occupation, Axel." Her eyes move to the redhead and give a dangerously foul tempered flash.

And, aye, there's the rub.

"Be quiet, _chòubiǎozi_."

This is a different sort of hatred than what Sora has seen Axel display before. This is not the finely tempered sexuality and disgust that he offers up to Rufus, this is not the carefully bottled rage and fear and awe and contempt he holds for Roxas. This is an indignation and a self-loathing, of sorts.

The atmosphere crackles and the ozone scent leaks from their pores. Demyx gives a tiny laugh and hurriedly springs over the mountain of pillows to retrieve his sitar.

"Inara, I've written new songs, please, please, instead of your fight with Axel, why don't you come listen to them?"

There's a brief pause as her dark eyes leave Axel and settle kindly upon the blond. Her composition floods back to her like water and she moves gracefully, settling herself upon one of the pillows at Demyx's side. She smiles primly.

"Yes, it would be my pleasure, Demyx. Your music rivals even some of our most skilled Companions."

"Whores!" Axel snaps loudly, like a clap of thunder. "You mean whores, Inara! Call them what they are!"

She glowers at him, even as Demyx begins to strum a particularly soothing reel. "No, Axel, The Castle houses whores. Creatures—not even people—used only for sexual gratification. A Companion's work is rarely to play the part of ordered maid. We are meticulously trained individuals with high academic standards." Somehow, she keeps her anger contained vigilantly within her thin body, though her hands are clasped in her lap tightly and if reproving looks could kill, Axel would be eviscerated. Every merit to her Companions is an insult of what Axel lacks. "We must all have a touch for psychology, so that we may better choose and connect with our patrons to offer them the best psychotherapy are able. We treat this as our profession and we show our clients the proper respect. We do not act as if our work, especially that of our interaction with the same gender, is some kind of scandalous affair with which to add more excitement to sexual intercourse."

"And I'm sure that's why you're here again, isn't it, Inara. You've come on behalf of the Guild to tell Xemnas to shut down again. It won't happen. You can't put us beneath you simply because you rutting Companions come from highbred families."

Axel's true meaning comes screaming out from between the lines. Somehow this woman has hurt him. It's endearing to know his façade has been shattered and he has been scarred. Sora smiles sympathetically for him and approaches, grasping Axel's arm and pulling him away into a separate room, calling well-bred apologies long since embedded into his brain.

In the next chamber, the redhead actually tries to strike him, not once, but twice. However, Sora catches his hand and holds onto it, kneading Axel's trembling fingers.

"Why do you hate her so much, Axel?" he inquires, catching quiet far off notes of Demyx's music. He looks up at his friend with irises the color of life giving waters. Axel's expression wavers, his eyes dancing between broken and resolute until he resolves his feelings somewhere between.

"You think now is the time to talk about this?"

"Why not?" Sora giggles brightly, with entirely insipid disregard for Axel's tactics of avoidance.

The long lines of his towering friend's body shake with mirth. This is what he loves about Sora, this is the sort of happiness that won't really allow him to just fuck Sora any longer. It's more important to see him laughing and smiling than it is to hear him moaning. It's been a long time since Axel has felt that way about anyone.

"Well," he says with all the honesty he can summon on a whim. He's too used to lying for it to be an easy task. "For one thing, the first time we met, she made a point of telling us how disgraceful we were. Which was sort of a slap to the face, to be told we were disgracing even whores. Then she beat me."

"Beat you?" the brunet repeats cautiously, hugging Axel tightly around the middle, still looking up at him, which Axel appreciates immensely, because the kindness in his eyes is too refreshing to measure. "Beat you at what?"

"They train Companions in the martial arts, that's why their bodies are so fucking perfect. She completely destroyed me on the practice floor, that's why I took up the wheels."

"So, you're a sore loser."

"Shut up."

"You are. I know."

"Shut up, Sora."

"I'm teasing, let's go back now, I think you can be civil."

"I guess, _boo hway-hun duh puo-foo_."

"Axel," Sora mutters in protest, waggling a reprimanding finger in his friend's face. "I am in no way a remorseless harridan! Be civil, do you have that memorized?"

**ﮚ**

Inara is, obviously, engaging company once she and Axel cease their little war. She serves tea, very much playing the part of Geisha. However, Sora knows the difference between the two from one cultural lesson or another he had received from within the stuffy confines of the classroom set aside by his parents in their mansion in Paris. It had been a windowless place with desk lamps and flimsy poly-board tables and uncomfortable metal chairs. Sora had always longed to set that room ablaze and concentrate on his swordplay forever more.

Giving Inara a more thorough vet now, Sora can tell she has also studied the sword. He compliments her on it quietly and she returns the gesture with a smile that seems genuine. He can't be certain though, she's been trained in psychology so she must be at least as adept in lying as the Thirteen, who have practical experience in it.

After his compliment, she begins in on an amusing tale set many months ago when she'd had to train a fool in the use of the sword. She'd only had one night to save him from being completely slaughtered on the morrow in a duel over her honor.

The three of them listen and laugh for her and Axel keeps his un-pleasantries to himself, even when she likens her tale to when she first began teaching Axel the fire dance.

Axel even manages to contain himself once they arrive at the Castle and Inara is bidding them farewells with hugs and smiles. Her smiles are… fake, beautifully, wholly, unquestionably fake, but they are kindly nonetheless.

"Axel," she calls as the man stalks away down the gangplank. Her eyes trail up his body once, slowly, probably filling in the naked details obscured by the rarely worn clothing. "I'm here to pick up a girl. To give her a better life. You know, I tried to do the same for all of you. I tried to spare you."

"You were too late," Axel chuckles, while his mouth curls into a bestial snarl of hatred and delight.

"I see that now."

"Too late."

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**


	14. XIV The Confession

**AN:** Hey, I know this story has been going on for approximately forever. I had entertained a brief idea of rewriting it so it made sense but... then I realized that would be a waste. I think some of you readers appreciate it in the spirit it was written, which is pretty much: Sparkly-Naked-Whores-In-Space with some cameo-party on the side. So, I'll try to stop forgetting/worrying and just get it all uploaded/written/etc and I hope readers will just have fun with it even if it isn't a masterpiece to span the ages.

* * *

The day after Riku leaves him—his eyes lidded heavily with sorrow and the image of his beauty so forcefully burned into Sora's retinas… The day after, as Sora rises late in the afternoon, sluggish from another night of tossing and turning and fevered desire and debilitating loneliness…

The newspapers scream words of death.

Franz d'Epinay.

Sora feels his throat constrict.

Hears Kairi's words echo painfully.

"The Count is the nexus, I'm sure of it."

Sora knows that the Count of Monte Cristo is behind it; it's a sick realization, one that forces him to leave the room, searching out his clothing in a rush.

He's standing before the Morcerf Estates before he knows what's happened.

Eugénie is there and she smiles at him gently.

"Have you come to wish Albert happy birthday as well?" she chirrups.

Sora stills, blue eyes darting like a guilty child. His tongue sticks in his dry mouth. "Have you seen the paper today?"

She frowns, her pretty face molding well into the shape. She used to frown much more than she does nowadays.

"No, I didn't have a chance. I was finishing my song for Albert. Why?"

"Nothing. Nothing, really, w… what do you plan to do for his," Sora gulps, casting worried glances towards the house, as if he expects to see Albert's swinging corpse at any second. "What are your plans for today?"

"Franz said to meet with Albert at the café, we should hurry soon or we'll be late."

Sora blanches. He forces a smile onto his face even as tears gather in his eyes.

"I'll get him ready. You should go to the café and make sure that there will be plenty of cake."

She begins to refuse, but the brunet interrupts, his voice cracking dangerously.

"Please. I… have to speak with him first, it's important."

Her sapphire eyes glint distrust and her frown easily deepens, but something about the way he speaks convinces her. Perhaps it is the fact that carefree Sora has finally found something worthy of his fear.

She turns and once he is certain she has well and truly gone, he knocks on the door. It does not open for quite some time, but at length, one of Albert's bloodshot eyes peaks out through the cracked doorway.

"Sora."

"I know about Franz."

Albert yanks him inside, clinging to his silken shirt, sobbing and shaking.

Albert is a broken creature.

Albert's sunken eyes look up to him, without any cry for pity.

Only a shattered heart.

"It was supposed to be me," Albert whimpers, his lower lip quivering. "I challenged the Count to a duel. He used me! He used me to hurt everyone else. I was going to… It should have been… me…"

His confessions come spilling forth like blood, like vomit, like guilt.

Albert's tears run themselves dry.

"He was my best friend…"

Sora senses something terrible seizing up in his chest. "Happy Birthday, Albert. Congratulations on turning sixteen…"

Albert hiccups, his body collapsing to the floor.

"He did it for me…" he mouths.

"He loved you," Sora feels the right to say.

"I know," Albert says, dying with every word. "I know."

**ﮚ**

Sora awakens with a fearful jolt, his body sweating. The edge of his vision is being consumed by shadows and his breath is labored. Some unidentifiable sound forces its way past his lips and he hangs his head.

That.

That image of Albert: lost, wounded, destroyed, and forsaken. Dying with every sound he made.

That is what Sora runs from. What he fears more than anything else. He fears that when at last he can speak with Riku face to face, he will not be wanted. He will be left alone to curl in on himself. He fears he will be left to die.

Someone's hand descends upon his shoulder, Sora jerks back.

"Sora?" Axel's face comes into focus, his fire chasing away the dark.

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask."

"I'm fine."

Axel's face contorts slightly, pulling inwards anxiously, his fingers squeezing just a bit tighter, holding on. "Picked a weird time to fall asleep," he murmurs.

Sora nods blithely, trying to remember where he is.

He casts hurried little glances about the room, trying to tempt recognition.

"This is Reno's place."

Sora mumbles some sort of acceptance and begins to sit up.

His head whirls and he slumps back against the couch again.

He's on the floor for some reason, his back pressed painfully against the sharply crafted little feet.

His dreams return to him in a dizzy moment. They expand and continue in the blink of an eye, days reliving themselves in seconds.

_ Eugénie's wedding, rushed on after Franz's death. Danglars's disappearance, Villefort's trial, Cavalcanti's revenge, Morcerf's attack on Paris, watching the bombs fall from his high-rise, wondering if Riku wais safe… _

Sora groans, covering his face with his hands, trying to still the quaking of his poor body.

"I am fine." He repeats, assuring no one, not even himself.

Reno's apartment is by no means a subdued place. It's a series of twisting, chopped up rooms covered in plastics as well as brocades, gaudy paisley as well as tasteful faux marbles. Reno's decorations seem indecisive amongst themselves, whether their intent is quirk, offense, or, possibly, well meaning murder of the senses.

It fits the man himself perfectly, Sora thinks, chuckling.

Reno renters the room, as if on cue.

"You're awake," he teases.

Sora can't quite remember why he's here, but he sheepishly gives assent of his consciousness. Reno advances and tussles his hair and runs his fingers down his neck and across his shoulders because he's been far too fresh since the beginning.

"And here he was hoping to get a piece of you," Axel drawls, hefting Sora up by the arms onto the couch beside him.

"Hey," Reno protests, his green eyes sparking with feigned irritation. "I wouldn't do anything to Sora if he were unconscious! I'm not a rapist, usually."

"Yeah, there are some kids on the First Floor who would beg to differ."

"They don't count."

Their bantering continues on at some length until Sora yawns helplessly, loudly. They glance at him and twin smirks, sharp and feral and wild and quite probably, a nod to the Northern blood they both share.

Axel picks him up in his arms like a bride and Reno playfully smacks his thigh.

"Looks like the kid needs to get to bed."

Sora's eyes refuse to stay open… he realizes he doesn't have it in him to protest. He realizes that going back to Axel's rooms and sleeping sounds wonderful. He'll have to take care of things tomorrow.

**ﮚ**

Inara is at breakfast and, for some reason, so is Larxene. Though, it does not take Sora long to deduce just what this reason is. There's a beautiful girl seated quietly between them. She looks to be human, very delicate and Eastern, but her neon eyes—the color of water—exhibit her alien blood.

Inara glances up when Sora and Axel enter the room, she smiles politely and offers to introduce them, as they have not yet met her new charge, no doubt. Larxene bristles, crossing her arms over her breasts and throwing one bare leg over the other.

"You are insufferably smug, aren't you, Serra?"

"This is Sayuri, I'm going to be taking her back with me for training." The Companion retains her poise, ignoring Larxene entirely. The girl next to her shrinks away from her own introduction, even while she rises from her seat in order to bow. She has acquired clothing from somewhere, probably from Inara herself. The blue fabric is terribly complimentary of her black hair and glowing eyes.

Sora and Axel both greet her, keeping their distance from Larxene as they get their breakfasts. Not that the efforts are worth anything, Larxene is lashing out at everyone in the room. She quickly insults Axel to gain his attention; she attempts the same tactic on Sora. However,

"I need to go talk to Roxas for a bit," Sora announces quietly.

Axel tries to stop him, but the brunet exits the room swiftly, leaving his food behind.

Sora is quick in navigating the halls, praying silently to himself all the while that Roxas will be in his quarters. The door is shut upon arrival, so Sora has no choice but to press the bell, to wait and to see.

He's left idling in the hall so long he almost gives up, but then the door hisses open and Roxas's pretty face peeks out into the doorway. Sora realizes, as he admires the other man, that he has not glimpsed Roxas for nearly a week. He has had him in his thoughts all the while, but finally being faced with him once again is pleasant beyond what he thinks words can express.

"Hello," Roxas greets warily, opening the door further to admit him.

Sora smiles. "I've missed you."

The blond appears startled by his words, he blinks rapidly, as if this should be a dream and one of these times Sora will disappear altogether.

"Have you?" Roxas inquires, motioning absentmindedly towards the bed. Sora sits on its edge and continues to smile despite himself.

"I do have something important to tell you, but first, how have you been?" Sora wonders, unable to shake off years of ingrained social niceties.

Roxas is much less inclined to humor him. "Fine, what do you need?"

Sora flashes him a wide-eyed look, begging him for extrapolation, something which Roxas has no intention of giving.

"What do you need?" the blond repeats again.

His friend shakes his head in disbelief but leaves his question to the grave, he knows the answer anyway: knows things are never well for Roxas, but the man does the best he can.

Sora allows himself a little bit of laughter before biting the bullet and pressing on. "I wanted to talk to you about Axel."

Roxas seizes up a little and purposefully does not look at Sora as he busies himself picking a few scattered scraps of clothing off the floor.

"What about Axel?" His reply is soft, difficult to hear. If Sora hears him the conversation will proceed.

The disowned aristocrat understands and perhaps sympathizes with Roxas, but desires more strongly to help him.

"How you feel about him."

Number XIII lets out a bark of shocked laughter. "I think we've made our feelings for each other abundantly clear."

Sora tilts his head to the side in a sort of indulgence. He had expected this and is pleased to see that his analysis of this situation has thus far been correct, though, now is when he should proceed with caution.

"I know that he's… he's a little bit frightened of you, but I think he cares about you nonetheless."

"What makes you say that?" Roxas sounds like he's choking on something; Sora politely keeps his eyes to himself.

"A friend of mine once said that feelings like hatred always start out by caring for someone."

"He's a fool."

"Yes, he's dead now."

"Good." Roxas gives the impression that he actually means it; he acts like the death dealer Sora knows he has been forced to be in the past. He recognizes all the signs of someone gone numb with pain.

"I think you care for Axel too."

"You're wrong."

"You don't sound convinced."

"You're wrong!"

"I think you love him," Sora suggest softly. "I think I've heard some things and I've seen some things. I think you love him, but the both of you are too scared to admit it. I think you worry one day he'll be taken from you and I think he worries one day you'll have to kill again, maybe it will be him and you won't hesitate."

Roxas grabs him by the shoulders, thin fingers digging into his flesh. The man's arms are shaking and his jaw is clenched. He forces Sora to look, forces Sora to see just what it is he has unearthed. Roxas wants him to regret it, but Sora doesn't. He thinks this display of emotion is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen gracing Roxas's pale face.

"Who told you?" Roxas's voice crackles. "Who told you."  
"Axel did."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because I asked. Because I care about you and Axel, and everyone else who has been kind to me here. Because I wanted to know why you were all hurt so badly."

"You shouldn't have."

"I know."

Roxas releases him, so Sora takes him into his arms and holds. He is reminded fully of what he had seen: the way Roxas had been so controlled by Luxord, so chained. He wonders about it, wonders just what happened in the Outreaches to cause that sort of beaten, broken, obedience.

"You shouldn't have," Roxas murmurs again against his collarbone, tears and spit coalescing slick and shiny on Sora's flesh.

"Tell me how you really feel about Axel, tell me why you hide it."

"You already know. Why are you asking."

"I want to see if you know."

"I… I love him. He and Demyx were the only friends I'd ever had… Do you. Do you even know what that means to me?! But when we got here and I killed those people, they were scared of me. They were scared and they were angry because I wasn't sorry. They didn't like knowing that I didn't feel any guilt. They're hypocrites, I did it for them, they had no problem with it… but there was something about me and not… not changing me, but it's changed everything."

Axel and Roxas would be so wholly right for each other, Sora reflects. One is loud and brash, burning everything around him, forcing it to be reborn, stronger than before. The other is that of silent poise, thought and wit and a heavy hand with which to keep Axel in line. What one lacks the other balances; a story of opposites. The aristos in Sora appreciates the symmetry.

Sora pets Roxas's hair; it's a pretty white gold color and is very soft under the pads of his fingers. This is what he has surmised, and now that everything has been confirmed, he has plans to fix it all. Somehow, eventually, his own goals will be obtained, but he excels in being selfless. This cause calls to him more strongly.

"It's because they care for you. They didn't enjoy seeing you stained with blood, they didn't want you to lose yourself."

"You know that for sure?"

"I've been right so far."

Roxas is quiet for a time, leaning against him, half on the bed and half on top of Sora. He shifts slightly, pressing their mouths together briefly in a sort of wordless thank you or possibly a saline apology.

"I don't mind fighting with him for just a little bit of his light, I don't mind if he hates me, because I can still love him, even if…"

"I think he cares too, I think that's why he's still here."

Roxas's eyes are beautiful and shining as they brim with tears. "He's here because if he betrays us he won't just be sent back to the Junkyard, they'll send him to _Château d'If_."

_Château d'If: _the War Machine patrolling the dangerous border of Reaver Space. It's also a prison; its captives' minds are used to fuel its mainframe. It's a cruel hell where one is never allowed to die and many a man has lost his mind within the confines of his cell. It is the self same place where the innocent Edmond Dantes's fate was forever changed.

Such a terrible threat could, Sora admits, very well be the true reason behind Axel's obedience, though he thinks not. Axel's behavior is more resignation and arrogance than fear.

"Why don't the rest of you join together against Xemnas?"

Roxas puts a hand over his mouth, his eyes growing large. Sora quickly understands that Xemnas is not a name he should implicate. He waits patiently for Roxas to explain.

"The others don't have to go through this. There are some clients they choose, but it is only the Oblivion and me who are forced."

The tribe name explains everything, clearly lays out the hierarchy here. That is why Vexen was so angry when Roxas became ill. The Castle has a reputation to protect, and if one of their high quality prostitutes failed to meet an appointment it would reflect badly. Vexen had been unhappy to take on the responsibility, one he was satisfied to shove onto someone he deemed lesser and--

"Roxas, you've suffered enough," Sora soothes. He feels Roxas's sharp intake of breath and supposes that to be a subtle enough method to make clear what he saw. Or, perhaps, it's a way of proposing that he take Luxord's place as Roxas's pillar of support.

"Thank you." Roxas accepts it, allows himself a little hope after all this time.

"I'll help you with this, I promise."

"Thank you…"

Roxas stays there a while, breathing quietly, his eyes shut placidly.

Sora hopes desperately that he will not disappoint.

No, he does not even allow himself to consider it.

**ﮚ**

On the way back to finding Axel, a man, who Sora can only assume is a client, passes him by. It is only worthy of note in that the man stares at him quite blatantly. Though, honestly, it is not the first time for such an occurrence.

Sora has a theory that these visitors are the true reason none of them usually care to wear clothes. He can almost hear Xemnas's dripping-honey voice explaining to the whores just what their place in life was,

_When we invite clients here, what do you think will entice them back? Good service, yes, but what about good memories… what sort of things should they see here on their way to their rendezvous, hmm?_

The only other thought Sora allows the visitor is that he hopes he is not one of Roxas's clients. If Sora could have his way, Roxas would never have another client again. But, for the time being, there are a few things Sora needs to accomplish.

The first is to find Naminé, but he has no idea if she even lives inside the Castle or not, so Sora deduces he must ask Axel for this information.

He finds the redhead asleep in his room, which judging by the time is more surprising than it should be. The sleeping schedule is turned entirely around, even though it is nearly midnight, most everyone else is wide awake.

Sora prods his friend's ribs gently, considering whether or not any of the bruises Saïx had given him yet remain. As Axel does not rouse, Sora determines not.

"Axel," he says, demandingly.

His mentor continues to dream; Sora is certain he does not want to know of what. So he leaves the man be, and hopes against hope that he will be able find another person with the knowledge he seeks. He wishes he could go to Roxas, but he wants this to be special, a surprise even. He realizes how juvenile that comes across, but he has always been predisposed to such things. He likes to be friendly, he likes to take the most straightforward route after he analyzes the problem.

That's how things are with Riku, why he is here. He figured out the issue, what he lacked in order to reach his goal and took the fastest route to meet his needs. Though, he did not anticipate the complications that would arise upon befriending the Thirteen.

So he wanders the halls once more, Demyx scurries past on his way out, Larxene sulks as she goes by, and Marluxia… Sora swallows when he recognizes him, steadying his nerves.

"Pardon me," he murmurs with all the grace he can muster.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**


	15. XV The Third Visit

Naminé has her own little room at the East end of the Castle. This information is inconsequential but for one tiny detail: her quarters are perilously close to the door with the neon letter I blazing out from its face. The nearer Sora gets, the more he feels like he can almost scent Xemnas out, can almost taste the chocolate pigment of his skin, can almost feel the silken caress of his voice. Sora's stomach seizes violently the closer he gets, watching the numbers diminish, V, IV, III, II… He walks past the Superior's room without being accosted. He releases the strained breath he had not realized he was holding.

Sora's been directed down this passage after plying a recalcitrant Marluxia for information. He'd achieved his means by eventually inventing a vapid story about finding Naminé beautiful beyond words. For some reason, Marluxia found this amusing and a cruel smirk had pulled at his face.

Sora is horribly conscious and wary of that ominous sign as he knocks on Naminé's door with his knuckles. Unlike Roxas's way of answering his door, Naminé is prompt. The pressurized locks hiss within seconds and the door swings fully open, exposing her as well as her sanctum.

She seems only slightly different from when they had met for the first time. The look of intense discomfort has fled her features, leaving her with pale complacency. She cocks her head atypically to one side, her denim eyes narrowing in consternation.

"Do I know you?" she wonders, even as she steps aside to allow him in. Perhaps a sign that she does remember, but wishes to drive him away. Sora does not fall for this and ambles inside, feeling out his own expression to make sure he seems just as unassuming and guileless as he always is.

Naminé's rooms, by far, are the most memorable of all Sora has seen since his arrival. Everything from the paint, to the carpet, to the lacquer on the furniture is sterling gray. Even the picture frames, of which there are many. Sora can name a few of the paintings. Some are ancient, some are modern, and all of them are beautiful.

She sticks out in this room. She's a lily, white, perfect, and as she has no color at all, the vibrancy in the room lends itself to her, drawing the eye to her. The room in its entirety comes across as a piece of art; she is at the fore, with everything else purposefully placed in the background.

Sora gives her a vague, confident smile, following her as she leads him to her couches and her coffee table. She does not offer him anything to drink, only settles herself across from him and meets his eyes, hands folded primly in her lap. It is an act.

He is ridiculously aware that she expects him to get on with it, so he does.

"I want something from you," he says without further preamble. He attempts to make this sound polite, but the attempt falls flat.

"Obviously." She seems bitter; Sora reserves that particular contemplation for later.

"This isn't for me."

"Refreshing." She seems honestly intrigued, Sora better understands already.

"I want you to write a particular script for next month's videos."

"The tripe I put out now isn't doing it for you?" Cynicism, for some reason Sora can only connect his train of thought to Marluxia. He has a burning desire to know her more closely… she looks starved for affection.

"It isn't like that."

"What are you offering me." It would be easier if she wanted money, or jewels. Sora could find his way to those somehow. However, that isn't what a woman like Naminé wants. Sora smiles weakly from one corner of his mouth.

"I want you to write the most intimate thing you've ever written. I want you to write it for Axel and Roxas."

"What." She repeats, wavering, dangerously, fighting herself to be kind when she has learned she must be strong. Sora pities her, in a way, not the filthy kind. He pities her that she is not free to be a person of her own. He will remedy this. "Are you offering me."

"Satisfaction. Sanctuary."

"You think that is enough?"

He knows it is.

"Is it money you want?" he inquires softly.

She takes in an angered hiss of breath. He gives her a much more sincere smile now and she breaks. It is not so easy for her to discard her armor, but the chinks are there. "Fine. I could use a challenge."

Sora allows her this lie. "Would you like me to make you some tea?" he offers.

He is earnest, she notices. Her confusion makes itself plain upon her white canvas face. The affection he so easily shows is… Her eyes grow wide and wet, her breath staccatos in and out of her. When she begins to cry it is not out of sadness. It is simply a floodgate of numbed pain that has finally, at last, been set free. She has heard so much about him, his sweetness, his kindness, but she had never hoped he would offer it to her. She is grateful for the release and yet,

"You're a cruel person." She accuses breathlessly. "I don't even know your name and... How do you expect me to go back after this?"

Sora is frightened when he fails to understand her motivations behind saying this. She sees his fear and does not explain, but she cries just a little bit more hysterically.

He reaches out awkwardly to thumb away her tears. "You're very pretty when you cry."

She stares at him in silence and then rises abruptly to make the tea. She brings it out in little white china cups and a little white china kettle. The steam curls and swishes on the rejuvenated ozone of the room like an undulating swarm of butterflies.

Sora is unsurprised that the tea smells of Jasmine and puts him to sleep almost instantly. He sees her smile as his consciousness fades, it is very soft, and very loving and he is comforted in a peculiar way.

"I can't let you see me cry anymore," she whispers, reaching out and smoothing his hair with the slim fingers of an artist. Beneath her nails he sees the remnants of paints.

**ﮚ**

Axel does not say a word to when he wakes up again. Sora appreciates the gesture, though he does wonder how it is that he arrived back in his rooms. After a few moments, he decides that issue is secondary to bathing and removing from his mouth the foul taste of the drug Naminé had used on him. Whatever it was has left him dry and somewhat salty and little bit nauseous. The only reminder of the actual tea is a faint Jasmine smell clinging to his hair.

Axel doesn't say a word, and Sora begins to worry.

"What time is it?"

Axel leans into the bathroom and shrugs.

"Axel," and Sora doesn't mean to sound as pleading as he does, but his head is spinning. "I…" and then he remembers what Naminé had said. She'd agreed to help him. She'd agreed to help him help Axel. Sora smiles broadly.

His mentor's face makes a hilarious flip in inflection. "What the Hell?"

"Nothing."

"What did you—"

"Where are we supposed to be tonight?"

"Shinra party."

Sora makes a face and Axel laughs and it is like a particularly vile inside joke.

**ﮚ**

The Shinra party does not turn out to be as horrible as it could have been. Rufus is there to greet them when they arrive. He is cordial and slimy, per his usual, though he does get down on his knees and take Sora's hand into his own.

He makes a formal and public apology, a tactic Sora recognizes only too well from the Parisian days. He goes along with the act, letting his eyelids droop and mouths words he does not mean.

"Oh, it isn't your fault, please get up."

He pulls his hand away delicately, as if Rufus is covered in oil, making sure the other man can see the curl of his lip.

Rufus smiles in reply and moves to greet Axel.

The two of them play their little game; Rufus caressing Axel's skin subtly, fingers sliding across flanks, open and flagrantly inappropriate. Axel pretends to like it, while his own hands linger near Rufus's carotid, reminding the other man of how much he would like to slit it.

And then they kiss: a heated show for anyone who just might be watching.

Sora pulls his eyes away, just to be met with the Jenova triplets eyeing him from across the room. His eyes widen at their presence, but Sora makes no other sign, only turns away when Kadaj blows him a kiss.

Today Rufus is throwing a society party.

Men and women and tittering young debutants mill and stare openly. A girl of sixteen in a white satin dress reminds Sora of Kairi when she was that young. The girl catches him examining her and her face immediately explodes in blossoms of crimson. Her pretty emerald eyes dart away with all haste.

There are several men of uniform and decoration throughout the hall, though Sora cannot remember enough of the SOLDIER party to say whether he was introduced to them previously or not. He does not see the General or Captain, nor does he spot Sergeants Barret or Cloud. So, Sora pays them no heed.

He wonders just what it is he's expected to do at this party. These don't really seem like the sort of people who would enjoy the company of a whore. Certainly not while Sora and Axel are dressed like this. They would make good servants in this garb… Perhaps, that's what Rufus intends?

He's caught by the collar. He does not understand why Axel has him continue to wear the abhorrent thing, but nonetheless, he is caught by it. His mentor scowls and gives the choker another sharp tug.

"Here are the rules for a party like this, Sora." Axel grumbles out quickly. Rufus is coming. "Keep this on. Stay away from the Jenova boys. Go drink some champagne and talk to anyone who stares at you for more than two minutes. Don't forget your story."

"Ah, there you are! Slipped away from me," Rufus purrs through clenched teeth.

He drags Axel away, while Sora goes over his rules once more. They seem simple enough. Self-explanatory, and he has no qualms with the champagne. While he sips at it—it's a pretty white thing that tastes of grapes but smells of candies—he quickly notices the people who Axel had intended him to speak with. They are inquisitive men and sophisticated ladies who manage to hold his gaze.

He moves towards them smoothly, his bare feet are cold upon the tile.

They seem bemused and somewhat pleased when he bows and introduces himself. With his talents, conversation is an easy match to strike. The flow of words is warm and generous, though openly deprecatory towards his station. The champagne helps there, Sora realizes, the champagne helps to keep his tongue going and as long as he is speaking to these people, he has a barrier from any untoward action of the Jenovas.

He's always known, since the first meeting, that Axel is intelligent. Sora is not sure why he is surprised Axel's orders have come to good use. The man is not one overly wont to being entirely wasteful with words. Playful, yes, but they always have some meaning for him, even if those around him cannot decipher his aim.

Later, when Axel and Rufus reenter the room, it is only natural that all eyes should be drawn towards them: the resplendent host with his barbarian lover, beautiful and wild at his side.

The fresh burn on Rufus's cheek matches Axel's hair.

The man seems to nurse this injury smugly, while Axel stalks away.

Axel does not so much as look at him again that night.

**ﮚ**

Two days after the Shinra party, Sora is taken along on his first job with a woman as their client. Axel explains at great length why it is they have so few female regulars. The first of which being that Xemnas will personally behead any of the Thirteen who impregnates a woman.

Sora laughs wildly, attributing this to the domineering, self-important, possessive personality Xemnas must flaunt. It is the only logical answer to the abysmal circumstances he has created around himself.

Axel ignores this observation and begins to tell him the client's name is Victoria, however that sparks something. It's a hazy recognition in the very back of Sora's mind. He glances up sharply and Axel seems to understand and so he nods.

Their ship today is the _Silvia_.

On their way through the Castle's dock, wandering through clouds of steam and vapor, they pass a group of tittering young customers. In a sickening flash of instinct, both Sora and Axel smile at them flirtatiously.

"You know," Sora murmurs, his mind reeling in an attempt to drive itself away from the active self-disgust. "Roxas said that Xemnas and his friends don't have to take clients."

Axel pointedly doesn't look his way, though he does snarl. "Yeah, why would Roxas implicate the great and benevolent Xemnas like that?" His body pulls tight as it's wont to when he's made angry and uncomfortable.

"Because I asked," the brunet responds, resignedly ignoring Axel's quills and barbs. "But what I'm wondering is, if they don't have to take customers… why do they bother?"

The man spits at the floor in disgust. "Because most of them like to fuck. A couple of them even seem to like getting fucked. And they get the women besides. Even if the ladies request someone else, Zexion can always convince them to compromise." Sora is surprised when Axel does not warn him that Zexion is dangerous. He's learned over time, and Axel has come to trust in that. It is refreshing: honesty and trust, a tiny unprecedented pocket of it within a web of lies.

"Aren't we going to meet a female customer right now?"

"Victoria is a special case. She's the one… well, it keeps her happy to know she hasn't been entirely forgotten, but Xemnas sure as Hell isn't getting off his throne to take care of it himself. So, he forces us to do it."

Sora glances at him and sighs.

The story of the visit with Victoria is not truly worthy of mention. Sora attempts to block the whole disgusting affair from his mind as soon as it's over. Never before have his homosexual tendencies made themselves more prevalent. He supposes he's grown into them over time. Perhaps, however, it's really Victoria's defeated eyes, the way she begs them to acknowledge her and love her, which is so sickening.

Sora's never thought Axel the kind to pity someone, but he openly pities Victoria, it's clear from the way the two of them rut. He's rough with her, unnecessarily so. It's a punishment, just as much as it is attention and meaning. How sad her life must be if she goes from day to day waiting for the next beating to remind her of what she's done wrong.

When she and Axel lay entwined, sperm and spent condoms littered across her expansive bed, Victoria talks to herself. Neither Axel nor Sora really listening at all.

"Mmm, they should just have you boys cut your tubes… then everyone would be happy."

"That would be pretty rude," Axel murmurs. He's only staying awake to make sure Victoria respects the symbolic collar around Sora's neck. "Taking away a guy's manhood like that."

"Oh, you're a man now?" Victoria teases, running half-heartedly flirtatious fingers across his sweaty skin. "No, Axel, no. Franz, now Franz d'Epinay was a real man. Too bad he's dead now. He really knew how to treat a lady, even if he was hopelessly in love that Morcerf boy."

Sora watches mutely from his seat across the room. He raises his teacup in front of his face so that neither of them will be able to see the pain her comment causes him. Of all the epitaphs for Franz, the hungry lechery of a broken woman is the worst Sora thinks he can imagine.

Sadly, afterwards, when they've washed and regained their clothes, Victoria offers to take Sora and Axel to one of her dinner parties. Party is the operative word to the situation. Sora recalls these sorts of 'parties', as he'd attended a very reluctant few of them in Paris. He enjoys dancing and he enjoys socializing, he does not, however, enjoy drinking or having sex where everyone can see. And that is the gist of Victoria's Luna-bound Galas. Axel also seems to find the display unappealing and graciously makes an excuse for their disappearance.

It seems they've made a clean break. However, as they step out the door, they are caught in a squall of inebriated violence. Sora thinks, despondently, they could have avoided the whole thing if they had just left a little earlier.

Expensive hotel furniture is smashed, gold leaf vases are left in shatters, costly holographic machines smoke and sputter and spark. The police are eventually required to come resolve the matter. Their arrival prevents the two courtesans from making their escape. Police sirens sing strident songs like heralds and snapping at their heels, like carnivores, come the paparazzi.

"Donatien! Axel! Can you tell us what happened here?" Tifa Lockheart calls loudly. Her hands waver and she shoves a microphone into his face, bartering for his attention amongst a horde of other bidders.

Sora tries to recollect his poise, but as flashbulbs strobe wildly in his face, his eyes widen to seeming terror and guilt. An officer attempts to grab him, but Axel smacks his hands away, shouting above the sudden din that the police may come take their statement tomorrow. They are leaving. There is a stunning amount of force and undeniable threat in his voice. Axel seizes Sora, heaves the boy over his shoulder, and begins shoving his way violently through the thronging crowd of slavering mindless monsters, desperate to bring this new fact to their faceless public.

"Donatien! Donatien!" Sora feels Tifa Lockheart's disembodied voice pressing in on him, drowning him, one bead of water amongst an ocean of bodies swelling all around him.

It is somewhat terrifying and Sora is suddenly glad Axel is there to save his hide once more. This fear is something he has not felt since he was a child still wary of the dark. He is saddened that he can so easily draw the parallels between the two circumstances. He is saddened by what that means for him. Bitterness does not seem so becoming.

* * *

**Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is **Public Domain**), and Memoirs of a Geisha.**


End file.
